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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


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India's    Love    Lyrics 


INDIA'S   LOVE   LYRICS 

Including  The  Garden  of  Kama 

Collected   and  arranged   in   verse  by 
Laurence  Hope 


STARS  OF  THE  DESERT 

By  Laurence  Hope. 


LAST  POEMS 

By  Laurence  Hope 


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LAURENCE  HOPE 


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COPYRIGHT,    1902, 

By  dodd,  mead  and  company 

Copyright,  1906, 
By   DODD,   MEAD  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED    IN    TJ.    S.    A. 


Contents 


PAGE 

"Less  than  the   Dust" i 

"To   the    Unattainable" 2 

"In   the   Early,   Pearly   Morning":     Song   by   Valgo- 

vind 3 

Reverie  of  Mahomed  Akram  at  the  Tamarind  Tank  5 

Verses         10 

Song   of    Khan   Zada 11 

The   Teak    Forest 12 

Valgovind's    Boat    Song 16 

Kashmiri  Song  by  Juma 17 

Zira:   in    Captivity 18 

Marriage  Thoughts:  by   Morsellin  Khan    ....  21 

To  the   Unattainable:     Lament  of  Mahomed  Akram  24 

Mahomed   Akram's   Appeal  to  the   Stars    ....  26 

Reminiscence  of  Mahomed   Akrarn 28 

Story  by  Lalla-ji,  the  Priest 30 

Request 32 

Story  of   Udaipore:     Told   by   Lalla-ji,   the   Priest    .  33 

Valgovind's  Song  in  the  Spring 37 

Youth 39 

When  Love  is  Over:     Song  of  Khan  Zada    ...  40 

"Golden   Eyes" 41 

Kotri,   by  the   River 44 

Farewell 47 

Afridi   Love 48 

Yasmini 52 

Ojira,  to  Her  Lover 56 

Thoughts:     Mahomed    Akram 59 

Prayer 61 

The  Aloe 63 

Memory 64 

The  First  Lover 67 

Khan  Zada's  Song  on  the   Hillside 69 


Deserted   Gypsy's   Song:     Hillside   Camp    ....  70 

The  Plains 72 

"Lost  Delight":     After  the  Hazara  War   ....  73 

Unforgotten 76 

Song  of  Fiaz   Ulla 78 

Story   of   Lilavanti 79 

The   Garden  by  the  Bridge 82 

Fate  Knows  no  Tears 86 

Verses:     Faiz    Ulla        89 

Two  Songs  by  Sitara,  of  Kashmir 90 

Second  Song:     The  Girl  from  Baltistan     ....  92 

Palm   Trees   by   the   Sea 95 

Song  by  Gulbaz 98 

Kashmiri    Song 100 

Reverie   of   Ormuz   the   Persian 101 

Sunstroke         104 

Adoration         106 

Three  Songs  of  Zahir-u-Din 109 

Second  Song ill 

Third   Song,  written  during  Fever 113 

The  Regret  of  the  Ranee  in  the  Hall  of  Peacocks    .  115 

Protest:     By  Zahir-u-Din 117 

Famine   Song 121 

The    Window   Overlooking   the    Harbour    ....  123 

Back  to  the  Border 125 

Reverie:     Zahir-u-Din         127 

Sea  Song 129 

To    the    Hills! 131 

Till    I   Wake 133 

His    Rubies:     Told    by    Valgovind 134. 

Song  of  Taj  Mahomed 138 

The  Garden  of  Kama:     Kama  the  Indian  Eros   .      .  139 

Camp    Follower's   Song,    Gomal   River 141 

Song  of  the   Colours:  by  Taj    Mahomed    .      .      .      .  143 

Lalila,  to  the  Ferengi  Lover 147 

On   the   City   Wall 149 

"Love    Lightly" 151 

No   Rival    like   the   Past 153 

Verse  by  Taj   Mahomed 154 

Lines   by  Taj    Mahomed 155 

There  is  no  Breeze  to  Cool  the  Heat  of  Love    .      .156 

Malay  Song 160 

The   Temple    Dancing    Girl 162 

Hira-Singh's   Farewell    to   Burmah 164 

Starlight 167 


Sampan    Song 168 

Song   of   the    Devoted   Slave 169 

The    Singer i71 

Malaria 173 

Fancy 175 

Feroza 177 

This   Month   the  Almonds  bloom  at  Kandahar    .      .  179 


India's    Love    Lyrics 


U 


Less  than  the  Dust" 


Less  than  the  dust,  beneath  thy  Chariot  wheel, 
Less  than  the  rust,  that  never  stained  thy  Sword, 
Less  than  the  trust  thou  hast  in  me,  O  Lord, 

Even    less   than    these ! 

Less  than  the  weed,  that  grows  beside  thy  door, 
Less  than  the  speed  of  hours  spent  far  from  thee, 
Less  than  the  need  thou  hast  in  life  of  me. 

Even  less  am  I. 

Since  I,  O  Lord,  am  nothing  unto  thee, 
See  here  thy  Sword,  I  make  it  keen  and  bright, 
Love's  last  reward,   Death,  comes  to  me  to-night, 

Farewell,      Zahir-u-din. 


(( 


To  the  Unattainable" 


Oh,  that  my  blood  were  water,  thou  athirst, 
And  thou  and  I  in  some  far  Desert  land, 
How  would  I  shed  it  gladly,  if  but  first 
It  touched  thy  lips,  before  it  reached  the  sand. 

Once, — Ah,  the  Gods  were  good  to  me, — I  threw 
Myself  upon  a  poison  snake,  that  crept 
Where  my  Beloved — a  lesser  love  we  knew 
Than  this  which  now  consumes  me  wholly — slept. 

But  thou;  Alas,  what  can  I  do  for  thee? 
By  Fate,  and  thine  own  beauty,  set  above 
The  need  of  all  or  any  aid  from  me, 
Too  high  for  service,  as  too  far  for  love. 


"In  the  Early,  Pearly  Morning": 
Song  by  Valgovind 

The  fields  are  full  of  Poppies,  and  the  skies  are 

very  blue, 
By  the  Temple  in  the  coppice,  I  wait,  Beloved,  for 

you. 
The  level  land  is  sunny,  and  the  errant  air  is  gay, 
With  scent  of  rose  and  honey;  will  you  come  to 

me  to-day? 

From  carven  walls  above  me,  smile  lovers;  many  a 

pair. 
"Oh,  take  this  rose  and  love  me!"  she  has  twined  it 

in  her  hair. 
He  advances,  she  retreating,  pursues  and  holds  her 

fast, 
The  sculptor  left  them  meeting,  in  a  close  embrace 

at  last. 

Through  centuries  together,  in  the  carven  stone  they 

lie, 

3 


In     the    glow     of     golden    weather,     and    endless 

azure  sky. 
Oh,  that  we,  who  have  for  pleasure  so  short  and 

scant  a  stay, 
Should  waste  our  summer  leisure ;  will  you  come  to 

me  to-day? 

The  Temple  bells   are   ringing,   for  the  marriage 

month  has  come. 
I  hear  the  women  singing,  and  the  throbbing  of  the 

drum. 
And    when    the   song    is    failing,    or   the    drums    a 

moment  mute, 
The    weirdly    wistful    wailing    of    the    melancholy 

flute. 

Little  life  has  got  to  offer,  and  little  man  to  lose, 
Since  to-day  Fate  deigns  to  proffer,  Oh  wherefore, 

then,  refuse 
To  take  this  transient  hour,  in  the  dusky  Temple 

gloom 
While  the  poppies  are  in  flower,  and  the  mangoe 

trees  abloom. 

And   if   Fate   remember  later,   and  come  to  claim 

her  due, 
What  sorrow  will  be  greater  than  the  Joy  I  had 

with  you? 
For    to-day,    lit    by    your    laughter,    between    the 

crushing  years, 
I  will  chance,  in  the  hereafter,  eternities  of  tears. 

4 


Reverie  of  Mahomed  Akram 
at  the  Tamarind  Tank 

The  Desert  is  parched  in  the  burning  sun 

And  the  grass  is  scorched  and  white. 

But  the  sand  is  passed,  and  the  march  is  done, 

We  are  camping  here  to-night. 

I  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  Temple  walls, 
While  the  cadenced  water  evenly  falls, 
And  a  peacock  out  of  the  Jungle  calls 
To  another,  on  yonder  tomb. 
Above,  half  seen,  in  the  lofty  gloom, 
Strange  works  of  a  long  dead  people  loom, 

Obscene  and  savage  and  half  effaced — 

An  elephant  hunt,  a  musicians'  feast — 

And  curious   matings  of  man  and  beast; 

What  did  they  mean  to  the  men  who  are  long  since 

dust? 
Whose  fingers  traced, 
In  this  arid  waste, 

These  rioting,  twisted,  figures  of  love  and  lust. 

Strange,  weird  things  that  no  man  may  say, 
Things  Humanity  hides  away; — 

5 


Secretly  done, — 
Catch  the  light  of  the  living  day, 

Smile  in  the  sun. 
Cruel  things  that  man  may  not  name, 
Naked  here,  without  fear  or  shame, 

Laughed  in  the  carven  stone. 

Deep  in  the  Temple's  innermost  Shrine  is  set, 

Where  the  bats  and  shadows  dwell, 
The  worn  and  ancient  Symbol  of  Life,  at  rest 

In  its  oval  shell, 
By  which  the  men,  who,  of  old,  the  land  possessed, 
Represented  their  Great  Destroying  Power. 

I  cannot  forget 
That,  just  as  my  life  was  touching  its  fullest  flower, 
Love  came  and  destroyed  it  all  in  a  single  hour, 
Therefore  the  dual  Mystery  suits  me  well. 

Sitting  alone, 
The  tank's  deep  water  is  cool  and  sweet, 
Soothing  and  fresh  to  the  wayworn  feet, 

Dreaming,    under    the   Tamarind    shade, 
One  silently  thanks  the  men  who  made 
So  green  a  place  in  this  bitter  land 
Of   sunburnt  sand. 

The  peacocks  scream  and  the  grey  Doves  coo, 

Little  green,  talkative  Parrots  woo, 

And  small  grey  Squirrels,  with  fear  askance, 

At  alien  me,  in  their  furtive  glance, 

Come  shyly,  with  quivering  fur,  to  see 

The  stranger  under  their  Tamarind  tree. 

6 


Daylight  dies, 
The  Camp  fires  redden  like  angry  eyes, 
The  Tents  show  white, 
In  the  glimmering  light, 
Spirals  of  tremulous  smoke  arise,  to  the  purple  skies, 
And  the  hum  of  the  Camp  sounds  like  the  sea, 
Drifting  over  the  sand  to  me. 

Afar,  in  the   Desert  some  wild  voice  sings 
To    a   jangling  zither   with   minor  strings, 
And,  under  the  stars  growing  keen  above, 
I  think  of  the  thing  that  I  love. 

A  beautiful  thing,  alert,  serene, 
With  passionate,  dreaming,  wistful  eyes, 
Dark  and  deep  as  mysterious  skies, 
Seen  from  a  vessel  at  sea. 
Alas,  you  drifted  away  from  me, 
And  Time  and  Space  have  rushed  in  between, 
But  they  cannot  undo  the  Thing-that-has-been, 

Though  it  never  again  may  be. 
You  were  mine,  from  dusk  until  dawning  light, 
For  the  perfect  whole  of  that  bygone  night 
You  belonged  to  me! 

They  say  that  Love  is  a  light  thing, 
A  foolish  thing  and  a  slight  thing, 

A  ripe  fruit,  rotten  at  core; 
They  speak  in  this  futile  fashion 
To  me,  who  am  wracked  with  passion 
Tormented  beyond  compassion, 

For  ever  and  ever  more. 


They  say  that  Possession  lessens  a  lover's  delight, 
As  radiant  mornings  fade  into  afternoon. 

I  held  what  I  loved  in  my  arms  for  many  a  night, 
Yet  ever  the  morning  lightened  the  sky  too  soon. 

Beyond  our  tents  the  sands  stretch  level  and  far, 
Around  this  little  oasis  of  Tamarind  trees. 
A  curious,  Eastern  fragrance  fills  the  breeze 
From  the  ruinous  Temple  garden  where  roses  are. 

I  dream  of  the  rose-like  perfume  that  fills  your  hair, 
Of  times  when  my  lips  were  free  of  your  soft  closed 

eyes, 

While  down  in  the  tank  the  waters  ripple  and  rise 
And  the  flying  foxes  silently  cleave  the  air. 

The  present  is  subtly  welded  into  the  past, 
My  love  of  you  with  the  purple  Indian  dusk, 
With  its  clinging  scent  of  sandal  incense  and  musk, 

And  withering  jasmin    flowers. 
My  eyes  grow  dim  and  my  senses  fail  at  last, 

While  the  lonely  hours 
Follow  each  other,  silently,  one  by  one, 

Till  the  night  is  almost  done. 

Then   weary,    and    drunk   with   dreams,    with   my 

garments  damp 

And  heavy  with  dew,  I  wander  towards  the  camp. 

Tired,  with  a  brain  in  which  fancy  and  fact  are 

blent, 

I  stumble  across  the  ropes  till  I  reach  my  tent 

8 


And  then  to  rest.     To  enswceten  my  sleep  with  lies, 
To  dream  I  lie  in  the  light  of  your  long  lost  eyes, 

My  lips  set  free; 
To  love  and  linger  over  your  soft  loose  hair — 
To  dream  I  lay  your  delicate  heauty  bare 

To  solace  my  fevered  eyes. 
Ah, — if  my  life  might  end  in  a  night  like  this — 
Drift  into  death  from  dreams  of  your  granted  kiss! 


Verses 

You  are  my  God,  and  I  would  fain  adore  You 
With  sweet  and  secret  rites  of  other  days. 

Burn  scented  oil  in  silver  lamps  before  You, 

Pour   perfume   on   Your   feet   with    prayer   and 

praise. 

Yet  are  we  one;  Your  gracious  condescension 
Granted,  and  grants,  the  loveliness  I  crave. 

One,  in  the  perfect  sense  of  Eastern  mention, 
"Gold  and  the  Bracelet,  Water  and  the  Wave." 


IO 


Song  of  Khan  Zada 

As  one  may  sip  a  Stranger's  Bowl 
You  gave  yourself  but  not  your  soul. 
I  wonder,  now  that  time  has  passed, 
Where  you  will  come  to  rest  at  last. 

You  gave  your  beauty  for  an  hour, 
I  held  it  gently  as  a  flower, 
You  wished  to  leave  me,  told  me  so,- 
I  kissed  your  feet  and  let  you  go. 


1 1 


The  Teak  Forest 

Whether  I  loved  you  who  shall  say? 
Whether  I  drifted  down  your  way 
In  the  endless  River  of  Chance  and  Change, 
And  you  woke  the  strange 
Unknown  longings  that  have  no  names, 
But  burn  us  all  in  their  hidden  flames, 
Who  shall  say? 

Life  is  a  strange  and  a  wayward  thing: 
We  heard  the  bells  of  the  Temples  ring, 
The  married  children,  in  passing,  sing. 
The  month  of  marriage,  the  month  of  spring, 
Was  full  of  the  breath  of  sunburnt  flowers 
That  bloom  in  a  fiercer  light  than  ours, 
And,  under  a  sky  more  fiercely  blue, 
I  came  to  you ! 

You  told  me  tales  of  your  vivid  life 
Where  death  was  cruel  and  danger  rife — 
Of  deep  dark  forests,  of  poisoned  trees, 
Of  pains  and  passions  that  scorch  and  freeze, 
Of  southern  noontides  and  eastern  nights, 
Where  love  grew  frantic  with  strange  delights, 
While  men  were  slaying  and  maidens  danced, 

12 


Till  I,  who  listened,  lay  still,  entranced. 

Then,  swift  as  a  swallow  heading  south, 

I  kissed  your  mouth! 

One  night  when  the  plains  were  bathed  in  blood 

From  sunset  light  in  a  crimson  flood, 

We  wandered  under  the  young  teak  trees 

Whose  branches  whined  in  the  light  night  breeze; 

You  led  me  down  to  the  water's  brink, 

"The  Spring  where  the  Panthers  come  to  drink 

At  night;  there  is  always  water  here 

Be  the  season  never  so  parched  and  sere." 

Have  we  souls  of  beasts  in  the  forms  of  men? 

I  fain  would  have  tasted  your  life-blood  then. 

The   night   fell  swiftly;  this  sudden   land 

Can  never  lend  us  a  twilight  strand 

'Twixt  the  daylight  shore  and  the  ocean  night, 

But  takes — as  it  gives — at  once,  the  light. 

We  laid  us  down  on  the  steep  hillside, 

While  far  below  us  wild  peacocks  cried, 

And  we  sometimes  heard,  in  the  sunburnt  grass, 

The  stealthy  steps  of  the  Jungle  pass. 

We  listened ;  knew  not  whether  they  went 

On  love  or  hunger  the  more  intent. 

And  under  your  kisses  I  hardly  knew 

Whether  I  loved  or  hated  you. 

But  your  words  were  flame  and  your  kisses  fire, 
And  who  shall  resist  a  strong  desire? 
Not  I,  whose  life  is  a  broken  boat 

13 


On  a  sea  of  passions,  adrift,  afloat. 
And,  whether  I  came  in  love  or  hate, 
That  I  came  to  you  was  written  by  Fate 
In  every  hue  of  the  blood-red  sky, 
In  every  tone  of  the  peacocks'  cry. 

While  every  gust  of  the  Jungle  night 
Was  fanning  the  flame  you  had  set  alight. 
For  these  things  have  power  to  stir  the  blood 
And  compel  us  all  to  their  own  chance  mood. 
And  to  love  or  not  we  are  no  more  free 
Than  a  ripple  to  rise  and  leave  the  sea. 

We  are  ever  and  always  slaves  of  these, 

Of  the  suns  that  scorch  and  the  winds  that  freeze, 

Of  the  faint  sweet  scents  of  the  sultry  air, 

Of  the  half  heard  howl  from  the  far  off  lair. 

These  chance  things  master  us  ever.     Compel 

To  the  heights  of  Heaven,  the  depths  of  Hell. 

Whether  I  love  you?     You  do  not  ask, 
Nor  waste  yourself  on  the  thankless  task. 
I  give  your  kisses  at  least  return, 
What  matter  whether  they  freeze  or  burn. 
I  feel  the  strength  of  your    fervent  arms, 
What  matter  whether  it  heals  or  harms. 

You  are  wise;  you  take  what  the  Gods  have  sent. 
You  ask  no  question,  but  rest  content 
So  I  am  with  you  to  take  your  kiss, 
And  perhaps  I  value  you  more  for  this. 

14 


For  this  is  Wisdom;  to  love,  to  live, 

To  take  what  Fate,  or  the  Gods,  may  give. 

To  ask  no  question,  to  make  no  prayer, 

To  kiss  the  lips  and  caress  the  hair, 

Speed  passion's  ebb   as  you  greet  its  flow, — 

To  have, — to  hold, — and, — in   time, — let  go! 

And  this  is  our  Wisdom :  we  rest  together 

On  the  great  lone  hills  in  the  storm-filled  weather, 

And  watch  the  skies  as  they  pale  and  burn, 

The  golden  stars  in  their  orbits  turn, 

While  Love  is  with  us,  and  Time  and  Peace, 

And  life  has  nothing  to  give  but  these. 

But,   whether  you  love  me,   who  shall  say, 

Or  whether  you,  drifting  down  my  way 

In  the  great  sad  River  of  Chance  and  Change, 

With  your  looks  so  weary  and  words  so  strange, 

Lit  my  soul  from  some  hidden  flame 

To  a  passionate  longing  without  a  name, 

Who  shall  say? 
Not  I,  who  am  but  a  broken  boat, 
Content  for  a  while  to  drift  afloat 
In  the  little  noontide  of  love's  delights 

Between  two  Nights. 


15 


ValgovincTs  Boat  Song 

Waters  glisten  and  sunbeams  quiver, 

The  wind  blows  fresh  and  free. 

Take  my  boat  to  your  breast,  O  River! 
Carry  me  out  to  Sea! 

This  land  is  laden  with  fruit  and  grain, 

With  never  a  place  left  free  for  flowers, 

A  fruitful  mother;  but  I  am  fain 

For  brides  in  their  early  bridal  hours. 

Take  my  boat  to  your  breast,  O  River! 
Carry  me  out   to   Sea! 

The  Sea,  beloved  by  a  thousand  ships, 

Is  maiden  ever,  and  fresh  and  free. 

Ah,  for  the  touch  of  her  cool  green  lips, 
Carry  me  out  to  Sea! 

Take  my  boat  to  your  breast,  dear  River, 
And  carry  it  out  to  Sea! 


16 


Kashmiri  Song  by  Juma 

You  never  loved  me,  and  yet  to  save  me, 

One  unforgetable  night  you  gave  me 

Such  chill  embraces  as  the  snow-covered  heights 

Receive  from  clouds,   in  northern,  Auroral  nights. 

Such  keen  communion  as  the  frozen  mere 

Has  with  immaculate  moonlight,  cold  and  clear. 

And   all   desire, 

Like  failing  fire, 

Died  slowly,  faded  surely,  and  sank  to  rest 

Against  the  delicate  dullness  of  your  breast. 


17 


Zira:  in  Captivity 

Love  me  a  little,  Lord,  or  let  me  go, 

I  am  so  weary  walking  to  and  fro 

Through  all  your  lonely  halls  that  were  so  sweet 

Did  they  but  echo  to  your  coming  feet. 

When  by  the  flowered  scrolls  of  lace-like  stone 
Our  women's  windows — I  am  left  alone, 
Across  the  yellow  Desert,  looking  forth, 
I  see  the  purple  hills  towards  the  north. 

Behind  those  jagged  Mountains'  lilac  crest 
Once  lay  the  captive  bird's  small  rifled  nest. 
There  was  my  brother  slain,  my  sister  bound; 
His  blood,  her  tears,  drunk  by  the  thirsty  ground. 

Then,  while  the  burning  village  smoked  on  high, 
And  desecrated  all  the  peaceful  sky, 
They  took  us  captive,  us,  born  frank  and  free, 
On  fleet,  strong  camels  through  the  sandy  sea. 

Yet,  when  we  rested,  night-times,  on  the  sand 
By  the  rare  waters  of  this  dreary  land, 
Our  captors,  ere  the  camp  was  wrapped  in  sleep, 

18 


Talked,  and  I  listened,  and  forgot  to  weep. 

"Is  he  not  brave  and  fair?"  they  asked,  "our  King, 
Slender  as  one  tall  palm-tree  by  a  spring; 
Erect,  serene,  with  gravely  brilliant  eyes, 
As  deeply  dark  as  are  these  desert  skies. 

"Truly  no  bitter  fate,"  they  said,  and  smiled, 
"Awaits  the  beauty  of  this  captured  child!" 
Then  something  in  my  heart  began  to  sing, 
And  secretly  I  longed  to  see  the  King. 

Sometimes  the  other  maidens  sat  in  tears, 
Sometimes,  consoled,  they  jested  at  their  fears, 
Musing  what  lovers  Time  to  them  would  bring; 
But  I  was  silent,  thinking  of  the  King. 

Till,  when  the  weary  endless  sands  were  passed, 
When,  far  to  south,  the  city  rose  at  last, 
All  speech  forsook  me  and  my  eyelids  fell, 
Since  I  already  loved  my  Lord  so  well. 

Then  the  division:  some  were  sent  away 
To  merchants  in  the  city;  some,  they  say, 
To  summer  palaces,  beyond  the  walls. 
But  me  they  took  straight  to  the  Sultan's  halls. 

Every  morning  I  would  wake  and  say 
"Ah,  sisters,  shall  I  see  our  Lord  to-day?" 
The  women  robed  me,  perfumed  me,  and  smiled ; 
"When  were  his  feet  unfleet  to  pleasure,  child  ?" 

*9, 


And  tales  they  told  me  of  his  deeds  in  war, 
Of  how  his  name  was  reverenced  afar; 
And,  crouching  closer  in  the  lamp's  faint  glow, 
They  told  me  of  his  beauty,  speaking  low. 

What  need,  what  need?  the  women  wasted  art; 
I  love  you  with  every  fibre  of  my  heart 
Already.     My  God !  when  did  I  not  love  you, 
In  life,  in  death,  when  shall  I  not  love  you? 

You  never  seek  me.  All  day  long  I  lie 
Watching  the  changes  of  the  far-off  sky 
Behind  the  lattice-work  of  carven  stone. 
And  all  night  long,  alas!  I  lie  alone. 

But  you  come  never.     Ah,  my  Lord  the  King, 
How  can  you  find  it  well  to  do  this  thing? 
Come  once,  come  only:  sometimes,  as  I  lie, 
I  doubt  if  I  shall  see  you  first,  or  die. 

Ah,  could  I  hear  your  footsteps  at  the  door 
Hallow  the  lintel  and  caress  the  floor, 
Then  I  might  drink  your  beauty,  satisfied, 
Die  of  delight,  ere  you  could  reach  my  side. 

Alas,  you  come  not,  Lord:  life's  flame  burns  low, 
Faint  for  a  loveliness  it  may  not  know, 
Faint  for  your  face,  Oh,  come — come  soon  to  me — 
Lest,  though  you  should  not,  Death  should,  set  me 

free! 


20 


Marriage  Thoughts:  by  Morsellin 
Khan 

Bridegroom 

I  give  you  my  house  and  my  lands,  all  golden 

with  harvest; 
My    sword,    my    shield,    and    my    jewels,    the 

spoils  of  my  strife, 
My  strength  and  my  dreams,  and  aught  I  have 

gathered  of  glory, 
And   to-night — to-night,   I   shall  give  you  my 

very  life. 

Bride 

I  may  not  raise  my  eyes,  O  my  Lord,  towards 

you, 
And  I  may  not  speak:  what  matter?  my  voice 

would  fail. 
But  through  my  downcast  lashes,  feeling  your 

beauty, 
I  shiver  and  burn   with  pleasure  beneath  my 

veil. 

Younger  Sisters 

We  throw  sweet  perfume  upon  her  head, 

21 


And  delicate  flowers  round  her  bed. 

Ah,  would  that  it  were  our  turn  to  wed! 

Mother 

I  see  my  daughter,  vaguely,  through  my  tears, 
(Ah,  lost  caresses  of  my  early  years!) 
I  see  the  bridegroom,  King  of  men  in  truth ! 
(Ah,  my  first  lover,  and  my  vanished  youth!) 

Bride 

Almost  I  dread  this  night.     My  senses  fail  ine. 
How  shall  I  dare  to  clasp  a  thing  so  dear? 
Many    have    feared    your   name,    but    I    your 

beauty. 
Lord  of  my  life,  be  gentle  to  my  fear! 

Younger  Sisters 

In  the  softest  silk  is  our  sister  dressed, 
With  silver  rubies  upon  her  breast, 
Where  a  dearer  treasure  to-night  will  rest. 

Dancing  Girls 

See!   his   hair   is   like  silk,   and   his   teeth   are 

whiter 
Than    whitest   of   jasmin    flowers.     Pity   they 

marry  him  thus. 
I  would  change  my  jewels  against  his  caresses. 
Verily,  sisters,  this  marriage  is  greatly  a  loss  to 


us! 


22 


Bride 

Would  that  the  music  ceased   and   the  night 

drew  round  us, 
With  solitude,  shadow,  and  sound  of  closing 

doors, 
So  that  our  lips  might  meet  and  our  beings 

mingle, 
While  mine  drank  deep  of  the  essence,  beloved, 

of  yours. 

Passing  mendicant 

Out  of  the  joy  of  your  marriage  feast, 

Oh,  brothers,  be  good  to  me. 
The  way  is  long  and  the  Shrine  is  far, 

Where  my  weary  feet  would  be. 

And  feasting  is  always  somewhat  sad 

To  those  outside  the  door — 
Still;  Love  is  only  a  dream,  and  Life 

Itself  is  hardly  more! 


23 


To  the  Unattainable: 
Lament  of  Mahomed  Akram 

I   would  have  taken   Golden   Stars  from   the  sky 

for  your  necklace, 
I  would  have  shaken  rose-leaves  for  your  rest  from 

all  the  rose-trees. 

But  you  had  no  need ;  the  short  sweet  grass  sufficed 

for  your  slumber, 
And  you  took  no  heed  of  such  trifles  as  gold  or  a 

necklace. 

There   is    an    hour,    at    twilight,    too   heavy   with 

memory. 
There  is  a  flower  that  I  fear,  for  your  hair  had  its 

fragrance. 

I  would  have  squandered  Youth   for  you,  and  its 

hope  and  its  promise, 
Before  you  wandered,  careless,  away  from  my  use- 
less passion. 


24 


But  what  is  the  use  of  my  speech,  since  I  know  of 

no  words  to  recall  you? 
I    am   praying   that   Time   may    teach,    you,    your 

Cruelty,   me,   Forgetfulness. 


25 


Mahomed  Akram's  Appeal  to  the 
Stars 

Oh,  Silver  Stars  that  shine  on  what  I  love, 

Touch  the  soft  hair  and  sparkle  in  the  eyes, — 

Send,  from  your  calm  serenity  above, 

Sleep  to  whom,  sleepless,  here,  despairing  lies. 

Broken,  forlorn,  upon  the  Desert  sand 

That  sucks  these  tears,  and  utterly  abased, 

Looking  across  the  lonely,  level  land, 

With  thoughts  more  desolate  than  any  waste. 

Planets  that  shine  on  what  I  so  adore, 

Now  thrown,  the  hour  is  late,  in  careless  rest, 

Protect  that  sleep,  which  I  may  watch  no  more, 
I,  the  cast  out,  dismissed  and  dispossessed. 

Far  in  the  hillside  camp,  in  slumber  lies 

What  my  worn  eyes  worship  but  never  see. 

Happier  Stars!  your  myriad  silver  eyes 
Feast  on  the  quiet  face  denied  to  me. 

Loved  with  a  love  beyond  all  words  or  sense, 
Lost  with  a  grief  beyond  the  saltest  tear, 

26 


So  lovely,  so  removed,  remote,  and  hence 
So  doubly  and  so  desperately  dear! 

Stars!  from  your  skies  so  purple  and  so  calm, 
That  through   the  centuries  your  secrets  keep, 

Send  to  this  worn-out  brain  some  Occult  Balm, 
Send  me,  for  many  nights  so  sleepless,  sleep. 

And  ere  the  sunshine  of  the  Desert  jars 
My  sense  with  sorrow  and  another  day, 

Through  your  soft  Magic,  oh,  my  Silver  Stars! 
Turn  sleep  to  Death  in  some  mysterious  way. 


27 


Reminiscence  of  Mahomed  Akram 

I   shall   never  forget  you,  never.     Never  escape 
Your  memory  woven  about  the  beautiful  things  of 

life. 

The  sudden  Thought  of  your  Face  is  like  a  Wound 

When  it  comes  unsought 
On  some  scent  of  Jasmin,  Lilies,  or  pale  Tuberose. 
Any  one  of  the  sweet  white  fragrant  flowers, 
Flowers  I  used  to  love  and  lay  in  your  hair. 

Sunset  is  terribly  sad.     I  saw  you  stand 
Tall  against   the  red  and   the  gold  like   a  slender 

palm ; 
The   light   wind   stirred   your  hair  as  you   waved 

your  hand, 
Waved  farewell,  as  ever,  serene  and  calm, 
To  me,  the  passion-wearied  and  tost  and  torn, 
Riding  down  the  road  in  the  gathering  grey. 

Since  that  day 
The  sunset  red  is  empty,  the  gold  forlorn. 

Often  across  the  Banqueting  board  at  nights 
Men  linger  about  your  name  in  careless  praise 

28 


The  name  that  cuts  deep  into  my  soul  like  a  knife ; 
And  the  gay  guest-faces  and  flowers  and  leaves  and 

lights 
Fade  away  from  the  failing  sense  in  a  haze, 

And  the  music  sways 
Far  away  in  unmeasured  distance.  .  .  . 

I  cannot  forget — 
I  cannot  escape.     What  are  the  Stars  to  me? 
Stars  that  meant  so  much,  too  much,  in  my  youth ; 
Stars  that  sparkled  about  your  eyes, 
Made  a  radiance  round  your  hair, 

What  are  they  now? 

Lingering  lights  of  a  Finished  Feast, 
Little  lingering  sparks  rather, 

Of  a  Light  that  is  long  gone  out. 


29 


Story  by  Lalla-ji,  the  Priest 

He  loved  the  Plant  with  a  keen  delight, 
A  passionate  fervour,  strange  to  see, 

Tended  it  ardently,  day  and  night, 
Yet  never  a  flower  lit  up  the  tree. 

The  leaves  were  succulent,  thick,  and  green, 
And,  sessile,  out  of  the  snakelike  stem 

Rose  spine-like  fingers,  alert  and  keen, 
To  catch  at  aught  that  molested  them. 

But  though  they  nurtured  it  day  and  night, 
With  love  and  labour,  the  child  and  he 

Were  never  granted  the  longed-for  sight 
Of  a  flower  crowning  the  twisted  tree. 

Until  one  evening  a  wayworn  Priest 

Stopped  for  the  night  in  the  Temple  shade 

And  shared  the  fare  of  their  simple  feast 
Under  the  vines  and  the  jasmin  laid. 

He,  later,  wanderng  round  the  flowers 
Paused  awhile  by  the  blossomless  tree. 

The  man  said,  "May  it  be  fault  of  ours, 
That  never  its  buds  my  eyes  may  see? 

3° 


"Aslip  it  came  from  the  further  East 

Many  a  sunlit  summer  ago." 
"It  grows  in  our  Jungles,"  said  the  Priest, 

"Men  see  it  rarely;  but  this  I  know, 

"The  Jungle  people  worship  it;  say 
They  bury  a  child  around  its  roots — 

Bury  it  living: — the  only  way 

To  crimson  glory  of  flowers  and  fruits." 

He  spoke  in  whispers;  his  furtive  glance 
Probing  the  depths  of  the  garden  shade. 

The  man  came  closer,  with  eyes  askance, 
The  child  beside  them  shivered,  afraid. 

A  cold  wind  drifted  about  the  three, 
Jarring  the  spines  with  a  hungry  sound, 

1  he  spines  that  grew  on  the  snakelike  tree 
And  guarded  its  roots  beneath  the  ground. 


After  the  fall  of  the  summer  rain 
The  plant  was  glorious,  redly  gay, 

Blood-red  with  blossom.     Never  again 
Men  saw  the  child  in  the  Temple  play. 


31 


Request 

Give  me  your  self  one  hour;  I  do  not  crave 
For  any  love,  or  even  thought,  of  me. 

Come,  as  a  Sultan  may  caress  a  slave 
And  then  forget  for  ever,  utterly. 

Come!  as  west  winds,  that  passing,  cool  and  wet, 
O'er  desert  places,  leave  them  fields  in  flower 

And  all  my  life,  for  I  shall  not  forget, 

Will  keep  the  fragrance  of  that  perfect  hour! 


32 


Story  of  Udaipore: 
Told  by  Lalla-ji,  the  Priest 

"And  when  the  Summer  Heat  is  great, 

And  every  hour  intense, 
The  Moghra,  with  its  subtle  flowers, 

Intoxicates  the  sense." 

The  Coco  palms  stood  tall  and  slim,  against  the 

golden-glow, 
And  all  their  grey  and  graceful  plumes  were  waving 

to  and  fro. 

She   lay    forgetful    in    the   boat,   and   watched    the 

dying   Sun 

Sink  slowly  lakewards,  while  the  stars  replaced  him, 

one  by  one. 

She    saw    the    marble    Temple    walls    long    white 

reflections  make, 
The  echoes  of  their  silvery  bells  were  blown  across 

the  lake. 

The  evening  air  was  very  sweet;  from  off  the  island 

bowers 

33 


Came    scents    of    Moghra    trees    in    bloom,    and 

Oleander  flowers. 

"The  Moghra  flowers  that  smell  so  sweet 
When  love's  young  fancies  play; 

The  acrid  Moghra  flowers,  still  sweet 
Though  love  be  burnt  away." 

The    boat   went    drifting,    ucontrolled,    the    rower 

rowed   no   more, 
But   deftly   turned   the  slender  prow  towards  the 

further   shore. 

The  dying  sunset  touched  with  gold  the  Jasmin  in 

his  hair; 
His   eyes   were   darkly   luminous:   she   looked    and 

found  him  fair. 

And  so  persuasively  he  spoke,  she  could  not  say  him 

nay, 
And  when  his  young  hands  took  her  own,  she  smiled 

and  let  them  stay. 

And  all  the  youth  awake  in  him,  all  love  of  Love 

in  her, 
All  scents  of  white  and  subtle  flowers  that  filled 

the  twilight  air 

Combined     together     with     the     night     in     kind 

conspiracy 

34 


To  do  Love  service,  while  the  boat  went  drifting 

onwards,  free. 

"The  Moghra  flowers,  the  Moghra  flowers, 
While  Youth's  quick  pulses  play 

They  are  so  sweet,  they  still  are  sweet, 
Though  passion  burns  away." 

Low  in  the  boat  the  lovers  lay,  and  from  his  sable 

curls 

The  Jasmin  flowers  slipped  away  to  rest  among  the 

girl's. 

Oh,  silver  lake  and  silver  night  and  tender  silver 

sky! 
Where  as  the  hours  passed,  the  moon  rose  white  and 

cold  on  high. 

"The  Moghra  flowers,  the  Moghra  flowers, 

So  dear  to  Youth  at  play ; 
The  small  and  subtle  Moghra  flowers 

That  only  last  a  day." 

Suddenly,  frightened,  she  awoke,  and  waking  vaguely 

saw 
The  boat  had  stranded   in  the  sedge  that  fringed 

the  further  shore. 

The  breeze  grown   chilly,  swayed   the  palms;  she 

heard,  still  half  awake, 

35 


A  prowling  jackal's  hungry  cry  blown  faintly  o'er 

the  lake. 

She    shivered,    but    she    turned    to    kiss    his    soft, 

remembered  face, 
Lit  by  the  pallid  light  he  lay,  in  Youth's  abandoned 

grace. 

But  as  her  lips  met  his  she  paused,  in  terror  and 

dismay, 
The  white  moon  showed  her  by  her  side  asleep  a 

Leper  lay. 

"Ah,  Moghra  flowers,  white  Moghra  flowers, 

All  love  is  blind,  they  say; 
The  Moghra  flowers,  so  sweet,  so  sweet, 

Though  love  be  burnt  away!" 


36 


Valgovind's  Song  in  the  Spring 

The  Temple  bells  are  ringing, 
The  young  green  corn  is  springing, 

And   the  marriage   month   is  drawing  very 

near. 

I  lie  hidden  in  the  grass, 

And  I  count  the  moments  pass, 

For  the  month  of  marriages  is  drawing  near. 

Soon,  ah,  soon,  the  women  spread 
The  appointed  bridal  bed 

With    hibiscus   buds   and   crimson   marriage 

flowers, 
Where,  when  all  the  songs  are  done, 
And  the  dear  dark  night  begun, 

I  shall  hold  her  in  my  happy  arms  for  hours. 

She  is  young  and  very  sweet, 
From  the  silver  on  her  feet 

To  the  silver  and  the  flowers  in  her  hair, 
And  her  beauty  makes  me  swoon, 
As  the  Moghra  trees  at  noon 

Intoxicate  the  hot  and  quivering  air. 

37 


Ah,  I  would  the  hours  were  fleet 
As  her  silver  circled  feet, 

I  am  weary  of  the  daytime  and  the  night ; 
I  am  weary  unto  death, 
Oh  my  rose  with  jasmin  breath, 

With  this  longing  for  your  beauty  and  your 

light. 


38 


Youth 

I  am  not  sure  if  I  knew  the  truth 

What  his  case  or  crime  might  be, 
I  only  know  that  he  pleaded  Youth, 

A  beautiful,  golden  plea! 

Youth,  with  its  sunlit,  passionate  eyes, 

Its  roseate  velvet  skin — 
A  plea  to  cancel  a  thousand  lies, 

Or  a  thousand  nights  of  sin. 

The   men    who    judged    him    were    old    and    grey, 

Their  eyes  and  their  senses  dim, 
He  brought  the  light  of  a  warm  Spring  day 

To  the   Court-house   bare   and   grim. 

Could  he  plead  guilty  in  a  lovelier  way? 
His  judges  acquitted  him. 


39 


When  Love  is  Over 
Song  of  Khan  Zada 

Only  in  August  my  heart  was  aflame, 

Catching  the  scent  of  your  Wind-stirred  hair, 

Now,  though  you  spread  it  to  soften  my  sleep 
Through  the  night,  I  should  hardly  care. 

Only  last  August  I  drank  that  water 

Because  it  had  chanced  to  cool  your  hands; 

When  love  is  over,  how  little  of  love 
Even  the  lover  understands! 


40 


"Golden  Eyes" 

Oh  Amber  Eyes,  oh  Golden  Eyes! 

Oh  Eyes  so  softly  gay! 
Wherein  swift  fancies  fall  and  rise, 

Grow  dark  and  fade  away. 
Eyes  like  a  little  limpid  pool 

That  holds  a  sunset  sky, 
While  on  its  surface,  calm  and  cool, 

Blue  water  lilies  lie. 

Oh  Tender  Eyes,  oh  Wistful  Eyes, 

You  smiled  on  me  one  day, 
And  all  my  life,  in  glad  surprise, 

Leapt  up  and  pleaded  "Stay!" 
Alas,  oh  cruel,  starlike  eyes, 

So  grave  and  yet  so  gay, 
You  went  to  lighten  other  skies, 

Smiled  once  and  passed  away. 

Oh,  you  whom  I   name  "Golden  Eyes,' 

Perhaps  I  used  to  know 
Your  beauty  under  other  skies 

In  lives  lived  long  ago. 
Perhaps  I  rowed  with  galley  slaves, 

41 


Whose  labour  never  ceased, 

To  bring  across  Phoenician  waves 

Your  treasure  from  the  East. 

Maybe  you  were  an  Emperor  then 

And  I  a  favourite  slave ; 
Some  youth,  whom  from  the  lions'  den 

You  vainly  tried  to  save! 
Maybe  I  reigned,  a  mighty  King, 

The  early  nations  knew, 
And  you  were  some  slight  captive  thing, 

Some  maiden  whom  I  slew. 

Perhaps,  adrift  on  desert  shores 

Beside  some  shipwrecked  prow, 
I  gladly  gave  my  life  for  yours. 

Would  I  might  give  it  now! 
Or  on  some  sacrificial  stone 

Strange  Gods  we  satisfied, 
Perhaps  you  stooped  and  left  a  throne 

To  kiss  me  ere  I  died. 

Perhaps,  still  further  back  than  this, 

In  times  ere  men  were  men, 
You  granted  me  a  moment's  bliss 

In  some  dark  desert  den, 
When,  with  your  amber  eyes  alight 

With  iridescent  flame, 
And  fierce  desire  for  love's  delight, 

Towards  my  lair  you  came 

42 


All  laughing,  ever-brilliant  eyes, 

These  things  men  may  not  know, 
But  something  in  your  radiance  lies, 

That,  centuries  ago, 
Lit  up  my  life  in  one  wild  blaze 

Of  infinite  desire 
To  revel  in  your  golden  rays, 

Or  in  your  light  expire. 

If  this,  oh  Strange  Ringed  Eyes,  be  true, 

That  through   all  changing  lives 
This  longing  love  I  have  for  you 

Eternally  survives, 
May  I   not  sometimes  dare  to  dream 

In  some  far  time  to  be 
Your  softly  golden  eyes  may  gleam 

Responsively  on  me? 

Ah  gentle,  subtly  changing  eyes, 

You  smiled  on  me  one  day, 
And  all  my  life  in  glad  surprise 

Leaped  up,  imploring  "Stay!" 
Alas,  alas,  oh  Golden  Eyes, 

So  cruel  and  so  gay, 
You  went  to  shine  in  other  skies, 

Smiled   once   and   passed   away. 


43 


Kotri,  by  the  River 

At  Kotri,  by  the  river,  when  the  evening's  sun  is 

low, 
The  waving  palm  trees  quiver,  the  golden  waters 

glow, 
The  shining  ripples  shiver,  descending  to  the  sea; 
At  Kotri,  by  the  river,  she  used  to  wait  for  me. 

So    young,    she    was,    and    slender,    so    pale    with 

wistful  eyes 
As  luminous  and  tender  as  Kotri's  twilight  skies. 
Her    face   broke   into   flowers,    red    flowers   at   the 

mouth, 
Her  voice, — she  sang  for  hours  like  bulbuls  in  the 

south. 

We  sat  beside  the  water  through  burning  summer 

days, 

And  many  things  I  taught  her  of  Life  and  all  its 

ways 

Of  Love,  man's  loveliest  duty,  of  Passion's  reckless 

pain, 

Of  Youth,  whose  transient  beauty  comes  once,  but 

not  again. 

44 


She  lay  and  laughed  and  listened  beside  the  water's 

edge. 
The  glancing  river  glistened  and   glinted   through 

the  sedge. 
Green  parrots  flew  above  her  and,  as  the  daylight 

died, 
Her  young  arms  drew  her  lover  more  closely  to  her 

side. 

Oh  days  so  warm  and  golden !     oh  nights  so  cool 

and  still! 

When  Love  would  not  be  holden,  and  Pleasure  had 

his  will. 

Days,  when  in  after  leisure,  content  to  rest  we  lay, 

Nights,  when  her  lips'  soft  pressure  drained  all  my 

life  away. 

And  while  we  sat  together,  benea.h  the  Babul  trees, 
The  fragrant,  sultry  weather  cooled  by  the  river 

breeze, 
If  passion  faltered  ever,  and  left  the  senses  free, 
We  heard  the  tireless  river  decending  to  the  sea. 

I  know  not  where  she  wandered,  or  went  in  after 

days, 
Or   if   her  youth   she  squandered   in   Love's   more 

doubtful  ways. 
Perhaps,  beside  the  river,  she  died,  still  young  and 

fair ; 
Perchance    the   grasses   quiver   above   her    slumber 

there. 

45 


At  Kotri,  by  the  river,  maybe  I  too  shall  sleep 
The  sleep  that  lasts  for  ever,  too  deep  for  dreams; 

too  deep. 
Maybe  among  the  shingle  and  sand  of  floods  to  be 
Her  dust  and  mine  may  mingle  and  float  away  to 

sea. 

Ah  Kotri,  by  the  river,  when  evening's  sun  is  low, 
Your  faint   reflections  quiver,  your  golden   ripples 

glow. 
You  knew,  oh  Kotri  river,  that  love  which  could 

not  last. 
For  me  your  palms  still  shiver  with  passions  of  the 

past. 


46 


Farewell 

Farewell,  Aziz,  it  was  not  mine  to  fold  you 
Against  my  heart  for  any  length  of  days. 

I  had  no  loveliness,  alas,  to  hold  you, 

No  siren  voice,  no  charm  that  lovers  praise. 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  grief  and  desolation, 
Solace  I  my  despairing  soul  with  this: 

Once,  for  my  life's  eternal  consolation, 
You  lent  my  lips  your  loveliness  to  kiss. 

Ah,   that  one  night!     I   think  Love's  very  essence 
Distilled  itself  from  out  my  joy  and  pain, 

Like  tropical  trees,   whose  fervid  inflorescence 
Glows,  gleams,  and  dies,  never  to  bloom  again. 

Often  I  marvel  how  I  met  the  morning 

With  living  eyes  after  that  night  with  you, 

Ah,  how  I  cursed  the  wan,  white  light  for  dawning, 
And  mourned  the  paling  stars,  as  each  withdrew! 

Yet  I,  even  I,  who  am  less  than  dust  before  you, 
Less  than  the  lowest  lintel  of  your  door, 

Was  given  one  breathless  midnight,  to  adore  you. 
Fate,  having  granted  this,  can  give  no  more! 

47 


Afridi  Love 

Since,  Oh,  Beloved,  you  are  not  even  faithful 
To  me,  who  loved  you  so,  for  one  short  night, 

For  one  brief  space  of  darkness,  though  my  absence 
Did  but  endure  until  the  dawning  light; 

Since     all     your    beauty — which    was     mine — you 

squandered 

On  that  which  now  lies  dead  across  your  door ; 
See  here  this  knife,  made  keen  and  bright  to  kill  you. 

You  shall  not  see  the  sun  rise  any  more. 

Lie  still!     Lie  still!     In  all  the  empty  village 
Who  is  there  left  to  hear  or  heed  your  cry? 

All  are  gone  to  labour  in  the  valley, 

Who  will  return  before  your  time  to  die? 

No  use  to  struggle ;  when  I  found  you  sleeping, 
I  took  your  hands  and  bound  them  to  your  side, 

And  both   these  slender  feet,   too  apt   at  straying, 
Down  to  the  cot  on  which  you  lie  are  tied. 

Lie  still,  Beloved ;  that  dead  thing  lying  yonder, 
I  hated  and  I  killed,  but  love  is  sweet, 

48 


And  you  are  more  than  sweet  to  me,  who  love  you, 
Who  decked  my  eyes  with  dust  from  off  your 

feet. 

Give  me  your  lips;  Ah,  lovely  and  disloyal 
Give  me  yourself  again  ;  before  you  go 

Down   through   the  darkness   of  the  Great,   Blind 

Portal, 
All  of  life's  best  and  basest  you  must  know. 

Erstwhile  Beloved,  you  were  so  young  and  fragile 
I  held  you  gently,  as  one  holds  a  flower: 

But  now,  God  knows,  what  use  to  still  be  tender 
To  one  whose  life  is  done  within  an  hour? 

I  hurt?     What  then?     Death  will  not  hurt  you, 

dearest, 

As  you  hurt  me,  for  just  a  single  night, 
You  call  me  cruel,  who  laid  my  life  in  ruins 

To  gain  one  little  moment  of  delight. 

Look  up,  look  out,  across  the  open  doorway 

The    sunlight    streams.     The    distant    hills    are 

blue. 

Look  at  the  pale,  pink  peach  trees  in  our  garden, 

Sweet   fruit   will    come   of   them; — but   not   for 

you. 

The  fair,  far  snow,   upon  those  jagged  mountains 
That  gnaw  against  the  hard  blue  Afghan  sky 

49 


Will  soon  descend,  set  free  by  summer  sunshine. 
You  will  not  see  those  torrents  sweeping  by. 

The  world  is  not  for  you.  From  this  day  forward, 
You  must  lie  still  alone ;  who  would  not  lie 

Alone  for  one  night  only,   though   returning 
I  was,  when  earliest  dawn  should  break  the  sky. 

There  lies  my  lute,  and  many  strings  are  broken, 
Some  one  was  playing  it,  and  some  one  tore 

The  silken   tassels   round   my   Hookah   woven  ; 
Some  one  who  plays,  and  smokes,  and  loves,  no 

more! 

Some  one  who  took  last  night  his  fill  of  pleasure, 
As  I  took  mine  at  dawn!     The  knife  went  home 

Straight  through  his  heart!     God  only  knows  my 

rapture 
Bathing  my  chill  hands  in  the  warm  red  foam. 

And  so  I  pain  you?     This  is  only  loving, 

Wait  till  I  kill  you!     Ah,  this  soft,  curled  hair! 

Surely  the  fault  was  mine,  to  love  and  leave  you 
Even  a  single  night,  you  are  so  fair. 

Cold  steel  is  very  cooling  to  the  fervour 

Of  over  passionate  ones,   Beloved,   like  you. 

Nay,  turn  your  lips  to  mine.  Not  quite  unlovely 
They  are  as  yet,  as  yet,  though  quite  untrue. 

What  will  your  brother  say,   to-night  returning 

50 


With  laden  camels  homewards  to  the  hills, 
Finding  you  dead,  and  me  asleep  beside  you, 
Will  he  awake  me  first  before  he  kills? 

For  I  shall  sleep.     Here  on  the  cot  beside  you 
When  you,  my  Heart's  Delight,  are  cold  in  death. 

When  your  young  heart  and  restless  lips  are  silent, 
Grown  chilly,  even  beneath  my  burning  breath. 

When  I  have  slowly  drawn  my  knife  across  you, 
Taking  my  pleasure  as  I  see  you  swoon, 

I  shall  sleep  sound,  worn  out  by  love's  last  fervour, 
And  then,  God  grant  your  kinsmen  kill  me  soon ! 


51 


Yasmini 

At  night,  when  Passion's  ebbing  tide 

Left  bare  the  Sands  of  Truth, 
Yasmini,    resting  by  my   side, 

Spoke  softly  of  her  youth. 

"And  one"  she  said  "was  tall  and  slim, 

Two  crimson  rose  leaves  made  his  mouth, 

And  I  was  fain  to  follow  him 
Down  to  his  village  in  the  South. 

"He  was  to  build  a  hut  hard  by 

The  stream  where  palms  were  growing, 

We  were  to  live,  and  love,  and  lie, 
And   watch    the   water    flowing. 

"Ah,  dear,  delusive,  distant  shore, 

By  dreams  of  futile  fancy  gilt! 
The  riverside  we  never  saw, 

The  palm  leaf  hut  was  never  built! 

"One  had  a  Tope  of  Mangoe  trees, 
Where  early  morning,  noon  and  late, 

The  Persian  wheels,  with  patient    ease, 
Brought  up  their  liquid,  silver  freight. 

52 


"And  he  was  fain  to  rise  and  reach 
That  garden  sloping  to  the  sea, 

Whose  groves  along  the  wave-swept  beach 
Should  shelter  him  and  love  and  me. 

"Doubtless,  upon  that  western  shore 
With  ripe  fruit  falling  to  the  ground, 

There  dwells  the  Peace  he  hungered  for, 
The  lovely  Peace  we  never  found. 

"Then  there  came  one  with  eager  eyes 
And  keen  sword,   ready  for  the  fray. 

He  missed  the  storms  of  Northern  skies, 
The  reckless  raid  and  skirmish  gay! 

"He  rose  from  dreams  of  war's  alarms, 
To  make  his  daggers  keen  and  bright, 

Desiring,  in  my  very  arms. 

The  fiercer  rapture  of  the  fight! 

"He  left  me  soon ;  too  soon,  and  sought 
The  stronger,  earlier  love  again. 

News  reached  me  from  the  Cabul  Court, 
Afterwards  nothing;  doubtless  slain. 

"Doubtless  his  brilliant,  haggard  eyes, 
Long  since  took  leave  of  life  and  light, 

And  those  lithe  limbs  I  used  to  prize 
Feasted  the  jackal  and  the  kite. 

"But  the  most  loved !  his  sixteen  years 

53 


Shone  in  his  cheeks'  transparent  red. 
My  kisses  were  his  first:  my  tears 
Fell  on  his  face  when  he  was  dead. 

"He  died,  he  died,  I  speak  the  truth, 

Though  light  love  leave  his  memory  dim, 

He  was  the  Lover  of  my  Youth 

And  all  my  youth  went  down  with  him. 

"For  passion  ebbs  and  passion  flows, 

But  under  every  new  caress 
The  riven  heart  more  keenly  knows 

Its  own  inviolate  faithfulness. 

"Our  Gods  are  kind  and  still  deem  fit 
As  in  old  days,  with  those  to  lie, 

Whose  silent  hearths  are  yet  unlit 
By  the  soft  light  of  infancy. 


"Therefore,  one  strange,  mysterious  night 
Alone  within  the  Temple  shade, 

Recipient   of   a   God's   delight 
I  lay  enraptured,  unafraid. 

"Also  to  me  the  boon  was  given, 

But  mourning  quickly  followed  mirth, 

My  son,  whose  father  stooped  from  Heaven, 
Died  in  the  moment  of  his  birth. 

"When  from  the  war  beyond  the  seas 

54 


The   reckless   Lancers  home   returned, 
Their  spoils  were  laid  across  my  knees 
About  my  lips  their  kisses  burned. 

"Back  from  the  Comradeship  of  Death, 
Free  from  the  Friendship  of  the  Sword, 

With  brilliant  eyes  and  famished  breath 
They  came  to  me  for  their  reward. 

"Why  do  I  tell  you  all  these  things, 

Baring  my  life  to  you,  unsought? 
When  Passion  folds  his  wearied  wings 

Sleep  should  be  follower,  never  Thought. 

"Ay,  let  us  sleep.     The  window  pane 

Grows  pale  against  the  purple  sky. 
The  dawn  is  with  us  once  again, 

The  dawn ;  which  always  means  good-bye." 

Within  her  little  trellised   room,   beside  the  palm- 
fringed  sea, 
She  wakeful  in   the  scented   gloom,   spoke  of   her 

youth  to  me. 


ss 


Ojira,  to  Her  Lover 

I  am  waiting  in  the  desert,  looking  out  towards  the 

sunset, 
And  counting  every  moment  till  we  meet. 
I  am  waiting  by  the  marshes  and  I  tremble  and  I 

listen 
Till  the  soft  sands  thrill  beneath  your  coming  feet. 

Till    I    see   you,    tall   and   slender,   standing  clear 

against  the  skyline 
A  graceful  shade  across  the  lingering  red, 
While  your  hair  the  breezes  ruffle,  turns  to  silver  in 

the  twilight, 
And  makes  a  fair  faint  aureole  round  your  head. 

Far  away  towards  the  sunset  I  can  see  a  narrow 

river, 
That  unwinds  itself  in  red  tranquillity; 
I  can  hear  its  rippled  meeting,  and  the  gurgle  of  its 

greeting, 
As  it  mingles  with  the  loved  and  long  sought  sea. 

In  the  purple  sky  above  me  showing  dark  against 

the  starlight, 
Long  wavering  flights  of  homeward  birds  fly  low, 

56 


They  cry  each  one  to  the  other,  and  their  weird  and 

wistful  calling, 
Makes  most  melancholy  music  as  they  go. 

Oh,  my  dearest  hasten,  hasten!     It  is  lonely  here. 

Already 
Have  I  heard  the  jackals'  first  assemhling  cry, 
And  among  the  purple  shadows  of  the  mangroves  and 

the  marshes 
Fitful  echoes  of  their  footfalls  passing  by. 

Ah,  come  soon !     my  arms  are  empty,  and  so  weary 

for  your  beauty, 
I  am  thirsty  for  the  music  of  your  voice. 
Come     to    make     the    marshes    joyous    with     the 

sweetness  of  your  presence, 
Let  your  nearing  feet  bid  all  the  sands  rejoice! 

My  hands,  my  lips  are  feverish  with  the  longing 

and  the  waiting 
And  no  softness  of  the  twilight  soothes  their  heat, 
Till  I  see  your  radiant  eyes,  shining  stars  beneath 

the  starlight, 
Till  I  kiss  the  slender  coolness  of  your  feet. 

Ah,  loveliest,  most  reluctant,  when  you  lay  yourself 

beside  me. 
All  the  planets  reel  around  me — fade  away, 
And  the  sands  grow  dim,  uncertain, — I  stretch  out 

my  hands  towards  you 

57 


While  I  try  to  speak  but  know  not  what  1  say! 

I  am  faint  with  love  and  longing,  and  my  burning 

eyes  are  gazing 
Where    the    furtive   Jackals   wage    their   famished 

strife, 
Oh,  your  shadow  on  the  mangroves!  and  your  step 

upon  the  sandhills, — 
This  is  the  loveliest  evening  of  my  Life ! 


58 


Thoughts:  Mahomed  Akram 

If  some  day  this  body  of  mine  were  burned 
(It  found  no  favour  alas!  with  you) 
And  the  ashes  scattered  abroad,  unurned, 
Would  Love  die  also,  would  Thought  die  too? 
But  who  can  answer,  or  who  can  trust, 
No  dreams  would  harry  the  windblown  dust? 

Were  I  laid  away  in  the  furrows  deep 
Secure  from  jackal  and  passing  plough, 
Would  your  eyes  not  follow  me  still  through  sleep 
Torment  me  then  as  they  torture  now? 

Would    you    ever    have    loved    me,    Golden 

Eyes, 

Had  I  done  aught  better  or  otherwise? 

Was  I  overspeechful,  or  did  you  yearn 

When  I  sat  silent,  for  songs  or  speech? 

Ah,  Beloved,  I  had  been  so  apt  to  learn, 

So  apt,  had  you  only  cared  to  teach. 

But  time  for  silence  and  song  is  done, 
You  wanted  nothing,  my  Golden  Sun! 


59 


What  should  you  want  of  a  waning  star? 
That  drifts  in  its  lonely  orbit  far 
Away  from  your  soft,  effulgent  light 
In  outer  planes  of  Eternal  night? 


60 


Prayer 

You  are  all  that  is  lovely  and  light, 

Aziza  whom  I  adore, 
And,  waking,  after  the  night, 

I  am  weary  with  dreams  of  you. 
Every  nerve  in  my  heart  is  tense  and  sore 

As  I  rise  to  another  morning  apart  from  you. 

I  dream  of  your  luminous  eyes, 

Aziza  whom  I  adore! 
Of  the  ruffled  silk  of  your  hair, 
I  dream,  and  the  dreams  are  lies. 
But  I  love  them,  knowing  no  more 

Will  ever  be  mine  of  you 
Aziza,  my  life's  despair. 

I  would  burn  for  a  thousand  days, 

Aziza  whom  I  adore, 

Be  tortured,  slain,  in  unheard  of  ways 

If  you  pitied  the  pain  I  bore. 
You    pity!     Your   bright   eyes,    fastened   on   other 

things, 
Are  keener  to  sting  my  soul,  than  scorpion  stings! 

6x 


You  are  all  that  is  lovely  to  me, 

All  that  is  light, 
One  white  rose  in  a  Desert  of  weariness. 

I  only  live  in  the  night, 
The  night,  with  its  fair  false  dreams  of  you, 

You  and  your  loveliness. 

Give  me  your  love  for  a  day, 

A  night,  an  hour: 
If  the  wages  of  sin  are  Death 
I  am  willing  to  pay. 
What  is  my  life  but  a  breath 

Of  passion  burning  away? 
Away  for  an  unplucked  flower. 

O  Aziza  whom  I  adore, 
Aziza  my  one  delight, 

Only  one  night,  I  will  die  before  day, 
And  trouble  your  life  no  more. 


62 


The  Aloe 

My  life  was  like  an  Aloe  flower,  beneath  an  orient 

sky, 
Your  sunshine  touched  it  for  an  hour ;  it  blossomed 

but  to  die. 

Torn   up,   cast  out,   on    rubbish   heaps  where   red 

flames  work  their  will 
Each  atom  of  the  Aloe  keeps  the  flower-time  fra- 
grance still. 


63 


Memory 

How  I  loved  you  in  your  sleep, 
With  the  starlight  on  your  hair! 

The  touch  of  your  lips  was  sweet, 

Aziza  whom  I   adore, 
I  lay  at  your  slender  feet, 

And  against  their  soft  palms  pressed, 
I  fitted  my  face  to  rest. 
As  winds  blow  over  the  sea 

From  Citron  gardens  ashore, 
Came,   through  your  scented  hair, 

The  breeze  of  the  night  to  me. 

My  lips  grew  arid  and  dry, 

My  nerves  were  tense, 
Though  your  beauty  soothe  the  eye 

It  maddens  the  sense. 
Every  curve  of  that  beauty  is  known  to  me, 
Every  tint  of  that  delicate  roseleaf  skin, 

And  these  are  printed  on  every  atom  of  me, 
Burnt  in  on  every  fibre  until  I  die. 

And  for  this,  my  cm, 
I  doubt  if  ever,  though  dust  I  be, 

64 


The  dust  will  lose  the  desire, 
The  torment  and  hidden  fire, 
Of  my  passionate  love  for  you. 

Aziza  whom  I  adore, 
My  dust  will  be  full  of  your  beauty,  as  is  the  blue 
And  infinite  ocean  full  of  the  azure  sky. 

In  the  light  that  waxed  and  waned 
Playing  about  your  slumber  in  silver  bars, 
As    the    palm    trees   swung    their    feathery    fronds 

athwart   the   stars, 
How  quiet  and  young  you  were, 
Pale  as  the  Champa  flowers,  violet  veined, 
That,  sweet  and  fading,  lay  in  your  loosened  hair. 

How  sweet  you  were  in  your  sleep, 
With  the  starlight  on  your  hair! 
Your  throat  thrown  backwards,  bare, 
And  touched  with  circling  moonbeams,  silver  white 
On  the  couch's  sombre  shade. 

0  Aziza  my  one  delight, 

When  Youth's  passionate   pulses   fade, 
And  his  golden  heart  beats  slow, 
When  across  the  infinite  sky 

1  see  the  roseate  glow 

Of  my  last,  last  sunset  flare, 
I  shall  send  my  thoughts  to  this  night 
And  remember  you  as  I   die, 

The  one  thing,  among  all  the  things  of  this  earth, 

found  fair. 

65 


How  sweet  you  were  in  your  sleep, 
With  the  starlight,  silver  and  sable,   across  your 

hair! 


66 


The  First  Lover 

As  o'er  the  vessel's  side  she  leant, 

She  saw  the  swimmer  in  the  sea 
With  eager  eyes  on  her  intent, 

"Come  down,  come  down  and  swim  with  me." 

So  weary  was  she  of  her  lot, 

Tired  of  the  ship's  monotony, 
She  straightway  all  the  world  forgot 

Save  the  young  swimmer  in  the  sea. 

So  when  the  dusky,  dying  light 

Left  all  the  water  dark  and  dim, 
She  softly,  in  the  friendly  night, 

Slipped  down  the  vessel's  side  to  him. 

Intent  and  brilliant,  brightly  dark, 

She  saw  his  burning,  eager  eyes, 
And  many  a  phosphorescent  spark 

About  his  shoulders  fall  and  rise. 

As  through  the  hushed  and  Eastern  night 
They  swam  together,  hand  in  hand, 

67 


Or  lay  and  laughed  in  sheer  delight 
Full  length  upon  the  level  sand. 

"Ah,  soft,  delusive,  purple  night 

Whose  darkness  knew  no  vexing  moon! 

Ah,  cruel,  needless,  dawning  light 
That  trembled  in  the  sky  too  soon!" 


68 


Khan  Zada's  Song  on  the  Hillside 

The  fires  that  burn  on  all  the  hills 

Light  up  the  landscape  grey, 
The  arid  desert  land  distills 

The  fervours  of  the  day. 

The    clear    white    moon    sails    through    the    skies 

And  silvers  all  the  night, 
I  see  the  brilliance  of  your  eyes 

And  need  no  other  light. 

The  death  sighs  of  a  thousand  flowers 

The  fervent  day  has  slain 
Are  wafted  through  the  twilight  hours, 

And  perfume  all  the  plain. 

My  senses  strain,  and  try  to  clasp 

Their  sweetness  in  the  air, 
In  vain,  in  vain;  they  only  grasp 

The  fragrance  of  your  hair. 

The  plain  is  endless  space  expressed ; 

Vast  is  the  sky  above, 
I  only  feel,  against  your  breast, 

Infinities  of  love. 

69 


Deserted    Gipsy's    Song:    Hillside 
Camp 

"She  is  glad  to  receive  your  turquoise  ring, 
Dear  and  dark-eyed  Lover  of  mine! 

I,  to  have  given  you  everything: 

Beauty  maddens  the  soul  like  Wine. 

"She  is  proud  to  have  held  aloof  her  charms, 
Slender,  dark-eyed  Lover  of  mine! 

But  I,  of  the  night  you  lay  in  my  arms: 

Beauty  maddens  the  sense  like  Wine! 

"She  triumphs  to  think  that  your  heart  is  won, 
Stately,  dark-eyed  Lover  of  mine! 

I  had  not  a  thought  of  myself,  not  one: 

Beauty  maddens  the  brain  like  Wine! 

"She  will  speak  you  softly,  while  skies  are  blue, 
Dear,   deluded  Lover  of  mine! 

I  would  lose  both  body  and  soul  for  you: 

Beauty  maddens  the  brain  like  Wine! 

"While  the  ways  are  fair  she  will  love  you  well, 
Dear,  disdainful  Lover  of  mine! 
70 


But  I  would  have  followed  you  down  to  Hell: 
Beauty  maddens  the  soul  like  Wine! 

"Though  you  lay  at  her  feet  the  days  to  be, 

Now  no  longer  Lover  of  mine! 
You  can  give  her  naught  that  you  gave  not  me: 

Beauty  maddened  my  soul  like  Wine! 

"When  the  years  have  shown  what  is  false  or  true: 
Beauty  maddens  the  sight  like  Wine! 

You  will  understand  how  I  cared  for  you, 
First  and  only  Lover  of  mine!" 


71 


The  Plains 

How  one  loves  them 
These  wide  horizons ;  whether  Desert  or  Sea, — 

Vague  and  vast  and  infinite;  faintly  clear — 
Surely,  hid  in  the  far  away,  unknown  "There," 

Lie  the  things  so  longed  for  and  found  not, 

found  not,  Here. 

Only  where  some  passionate,  level  land 

Stretches  itself  in  reaches  of  golden  sand, 
Only  where  the  sea  line  is  joined  to  the  sky-line, 

clear, 
Beyond    the    curve    of    ripple    or    white 

foamed  crest, — 
Shall    the   weary   eyes 
Distressed  by  the  broken  skies, — 
Broken    by    Minaret,    mountain,    or 

towering    tree, — 
Shall    the    weary    eyes    be    assuaged, — be 

assuaged, — and   rest 


72 


"Lost  Delight" 

After  the  Hazara  War 

I  lie  alone  beneath  the  Almond  blossoms, 

Where  we  two  lay  together  in  the  spring, 

And  now,  as  then,  the  mountain  snows  are  melting, 
This  year,  as  last,  the  water-courses  sing. 

That  was  another  spring,  and  other  flowers, 

Hung,   pink  and   fragile,  on  the  leafless  tree, 

The  land  rejoiced  in  other  running  water, 

And  I  rejoiced,  because  you  were  with  me. 

You,  with  your  soft  eyes,  darkly  lashed  and  shaded, 
Your  red  lips  like  a  living,  laughing  rose, 

Your  restless,  amber  limbs  so  lithe  and  slender 
Now    lost    to    me.     Gone    whither    no    man 

knows. 

You  lay  beside  me  singing  in  the  sunshine; 

The  rough,  white  fur,  unloosened  at  the  neck, 
Showed    the    smooth    skin,    fair    as    the    Almond 

blossoms, 

On  which  the  sun  could  find  no  flaw  or  fleck. 

73 


I  lie  alone,  beneath  the  Almond  flowers, 

I  hated  them  to  touch  you  as  they  fell. 

And  now,  who  killed  you?  worse,  Ah,  worse,  who 

loves  you? 
(My  soul  is  burning  as  men  burn  in  Hell.) 

How  I  have  sought  you  in  the  crowded  cities! 

I  have  been  mad,  they  say,  for  many  days. 
I  know  not  how  I  came  here,  to  the  valley, 

What  fate  has  led  me,  through  what  doubtful 

ways. 

Somewhere  I  see  my  sword  has  done  good  service, 
Some  one   I   killed,   who,  smiling,   used  your 

name, 
But  in  what  country?     Nay,  I  have  forgotten, 
All   thought   is  shrivelled   in   my   heart's   hot 

flame. 

Where    are    you    now,    Delight,    and    where   your 

beauty, 
Your   subtle    curls,    and    laughing,    changeful 

face : 
Bound,   bruised  and  naked    (dear  God,  grant  me 

patience), 
And  sold  in  Cabul  in  the  market-place. 

I  asked  of  you  of  all  men.     Who  could  tell  me? 
Among  so   many  captured,   sold,   or  slain, 

74 


What  fate  was  yours?     (Ah,  dear  God,  grant  me 

patience, 
My  heart  is  burnt,   is  burnt,  with  fire  and 

pain.) 

Oh,  lost  Delight!  my  heart  is  almost  breaking, 
My  sword  is  broken  and  my  feet  are  sore, 

The  people  look  at  me  and  say  in  passing, 

"He  will  not  leave  the  village  any  more." 

For  as  the  evening  falls,  the  fever  rises, 

With   frantic  thoughts  careering  through  the 

brain, 
Wild  thoughts  of  you.      (Ah,  dear  God,  grant  me 

patience, 
My  soul  is  hurt  beyond  all  men  call  pain.) 

I  lie  alone,  beneath  the  Almond  blossoms, 

And  see  the  white  snow  melting  on  the  hills 

Till    Khorassan    is   gay   with    water-courses, 

Glad  with  the  tinkling  sound  of  running  rills, 

And  well  I  know  that  when  the  fragile  petals 

Fall  softly,  ere  the  first  green  leaves  appear, 

(Ah,    for    these    last    few    days,    God,    grant    me 

patience,) 
Since  Delight  is  not,  I  shall  not  be,  here! 


75 


Unforgotten 

Do  you  ever  think  of  me?  you  who  died 

Ere  our  Youth's  first  fervour  chilled, 

With  your  soft  eyes  and  your  pulses  stilled 
Lying  alone,  aside, 

Do  you  ever  think  of  me,  left  in  the  light, 

From  the  endless  calm  of  your  dawnless  night? 

I  am  faithful  always:  I  do  not  say 

That  the  lips  which  thrilled  to  your  lips  of  old 

To  lesser  kisses  are  always  cold ; 

Had  you  wished  for  this  in  its  narrow  sense 
Our  love  perhaps  had  been  less  intense; 

But  as  we  held  faithfulness,  you  and  I, 
I  am  faithful  always,  as  you  who  lie, 
Asleep  for  ever,  beneath  the  grass, 
While   the   days  and   nights   and   the  seasons 

pass, — 
Pass  away. 

I  keep  your  memory  near  my  heart, 

My  brilliant,  beautiful  guiding  Star, 

Till  long  live  over,  I  too  depart 

To  the  infinite  night  where  perhaps  you  are. 

76 


Oh,  are  you  anywhere?     Loved  so  well! 
1  would  rather  know  you  alive  in  Hell 
Than  think  your  beauty  is  nothing  now, 
With  its  deep  dark  eyes  and  tranquil  brow 
Where  the  hair  fell  softly.     Can  this  be  true 
That  nothing,  nowhere,  exists  of  you? 
Nothing,  nowhere,  oh,  loved  so  well 
I  have  never  forgotten. 

Do  you  still  keep 
Thoughts  of  me  through  your  dreamless  sleep? 

Oh,  gone  from  me!  lost  in  Eternal  Night, 

Lost  Star  of  light, 
Risen  splendidly,  set  so  soon, 

Through  the  weariness  of  life's  afternoon 
I  dream  of  your  memory  yet. 
My  loved  and  lost,  whom  I  could  not  save, 
My  youth  went  down  with  you  to  the  grave, 
Though  other  planets  and  stars  may  rise, 
I  dream  of  your  soft  and  sorrowful  eyes 
And   I  cannot  forget. 


77 


Song  of  Faiz  Ulla 


Just  at  the  time  when  Jasmins  bloom,  most  sweetly 

in  the  summer  weather, 
Lost  in  the  scented  Jungle  gloom,  one  sultry  night 

we  spent  together 
We,  Love  and  Night,  together  blent,  a  Trinity  of 

tranced   content. 

Yet,  while  your  lips  were  wholly  mine,  to  kiss,  to 

drink  from,  to  caress, 
We  heard  some  far-off  faint  distress;  harsh  drop  of 

poison  in  sweet  wine 
Lessening  the  fulness  of  delight, — 

Some  quivering  note  of  human  pain, 
Which  rose  and  fell  and  rose  again,  in  plaintive  sobs 

throughout  the  night, 

Spoiling  the  perfumed,  moonless  hours 
We  spent  among  the  Jasmin  flowers. 


78 


Story  of  Lilavanti 

They  lay  the  slender  body  down 
With  all  its  wealth  of  wetted  hair, 

Only  a  daughter  of  the  town, 

But  very  young  and  slight  and  fair. 

The  eyes,  whose  light  one  cannot  see, 
Are  sombre  doubtless,  like  the  tresses, 

The  mouth's  soft  curvings  seem  to  be 
A  roseate  series  of  caresses. 

And  where  the  skin  has  all  but  dried 
(The  air  is  sultry  in  the  room) 

Upon  her  breast  and  either  side, 
It  shows  a  soft  and  amber  bloom. 

By  women  here,  who  knew  her  life, 
A  leper  husband,  I  am  told, 

Took  all  this  loveliness  to  wife 
When  it  was  barely  ten  years  old. 

And  when  the  child  in  shocked  dismay 
Fled  from  the  hated  husband's  care 

79 


He  caught  and  tied  her,  so  they  say, 
Down  to  his  bedside  by  her  hair. 

To  some  low  quarter  of  the  town, 
Escaped  a  second  time,  she  flew ; 

Her  beauty  brought  her  great  renown 
And  many  lovers  here  she  knew, 

When,  as  the  mystic  Eastern  night 
With  purple  shadow  filled  the  air, 

Behind  her  window  framed  in  light, 
She  sat  with  jasmin  in  her  hair. 

At  last  she  loved  a  youth,  who  chose 
To  keep  this  wild  flower  for  his  own, 

He  in  his  garden  set  his  rose 

Where  it  might  bloom  for  him  alone. 

Cholera  came;  her  lover  died, 

Want  drove  her  to  the  streets  again, 

And  women  found  her  there,  who  tried 
To  turn  her  beauty  into  gain. 

But  she  who  in  those  garden  ways 

Had  learnt  of  Love,  would  now  no  more 

Be  bartered  in  the  market  place 
For  silver,  as  in  days  before. 

That  former  life  she  strove  to  change; 
She  sold  the  silver  off  her  arms, 

80 


While  all  the  world  grew  cold  and  strange 
To  broken  health  and  fading  charms. 

Till,  finding  lovers,  but  no  friend, 

Nor  any  place  to  rest  or  hide, 
She  grew  despairing  at  the  end, 

Slipped  softly  down  a  well  and  died. 

And  yet,  how  short,  when  all  is  said, 
This  little  life  of  love  and  tears! 

Her  age,  they  say,  beside  her  bed, 
To-day  is  only  fifteen  years. 


81 


The  Garden  by  the  Bridge 

The  Desert  sands  are  heated,  parched  and  dreary, 
The  tigers  rend  alive  their  quivering  prey 

In  the  near  Jungle;  here  the  kites  rise,  weary, 
Too  gorged  with  living  food  to  fly  away. 

All  night  the  hungry  jackals  howl  together 

Over  the  carrion  in  the  river  bed, 
Or  seize  some  small  soft  thing  of  fur  or  feather 

Whose  dying  shrieks  on  the  night  air  are  shed. 

I  hear  from  yonder  Temple  in  the  distance 
Whose  roof  with  obscene  carven  Gods  is  piled, 

Reiterated  with  a  sad  insistence 

Sobs  of,  perhaps,  some  immolated  child. 

Stange  rites  here,  where  the  archway's  shade  is 

deeper, 

Are  consummated  in  the  river  bed ; 
Parias  steal   the   rotten   railway  sleeper 
To  burn  the  bodies  of  their  cholera  dead. 

But   yet,    their   lust,    their   hunger,   cannot   shame 

them 

82 


Goaded  by  fierce  desire,  that  flays  and  stings; 
Poor    beasts,    and    poorer    men.     Nay,    who    shall 

blame  them? 
Blame  the   Inherent  Cruelty  of  Things. 

The  world  is  horrible  and  I  am  lonely, 

Let  me  rest  here  where  yellow  roses  bloom 

And  find  forgetfulness,  remembering  only 
Your  face  beside  me  in  the  scented  gloom. 

Nay,  do  not  shrink!     I  am  not  here  for  passion, 

I  crave  no  love,  only  a  little  rest, 
Although  I  would  my  face  lay,  lover's  fashion, 

Against  the  tender  coolness  of  your  breast. 

I  am  so  weary  of  the  Curse  of  Living 

The  endless,   aimless   torture,   tumult,   fears. 

Surely,  if  life  were  any  God's  free  giving, 

He,  seeing  His  gift,  long  since  went  blind  with 

tears. 

Seeing  us;  our  fruitless  strife,  our  futile  praying, 
Our  luckless  Present  and  our  bloodstained  Past. 

Poor  players,  who  make  a  trick  or  two  in  playing, 
But  know  that  death  must  win  the  game  at  last. 

As  round  the  Fowler,  red  with  feathered  slaughter, 
The  little  joyous  lark,  unconscious,  sings, — 

As  the  pink  Lotus  floats  on  azure  water, 

Innocent  of  the  mud  from  whence  it  springs. 

83 


You  walk  through  life,  unheeding  all  the  sorrow, 
The  fear  and  pain  set  close  around  your  way, 

Meeting  with  hopeful  eyes  each  gay  to-morrow, 
Living  with  joy  each  hour  of  glad  to-day. 

I  love  to  have  you  thus   (nay,  dear,  lie  quiet, 
How  should  these  reverent  fingers  wrong  your 

hair?) 

So  calmly  careless  of  the  rush  and  riot 
That  rages  round  is  seething  everywhere. 

You   do  not  understand.     You   think  your  beauty 
Does  but  inflame  my  senses  to  desire, 

Till  all  you  hold  as  loyalty  and  duty, 

Is  shrunk  and  shrivelled  in  the  ardent  fire. 

You  wrong  me,  wearied  out  with  thought  and 

grieving 
As   though    the   whole   world's   sorrow   eat   my 

heart, 
I  come  to  gaze  upon  your  face  believing 
Its  beauty  is  as  ointment  to  the  smart. 

Lie  still  and  let  me  in  my  desolation 

Caress  the  soft  loose  hair  a  moment's  span. 

Since  Loveliness  is  Life's  one  Consolation, 
And  love  the  only  Lethe  left  to  man. 

Ah,  give  me  here  beneath  the  trees  in  flower, 
Beside  the  river  where  the  fireflies  pass, 

84 


One  little  dusky,  all  consoling  hour 

Lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  long  grown  grass 

Give  me,  oh  you  whose  arms  are  soft  and  slender, 
Whose  eyes  are  nothing  but  one  long  caressv 

Against  your  heart,  so  innocent  and  tender, 
A  little  Love  and  some  Forgetfulness. 


85 


Fate  Knows  no  Tears 

Just  as  the  dawn  of  Love  was  breaking 
Across  the  weary  world  of  grey, 

Just  as  my  life  once  more  was  waking 
As  roses  waken  late  in  May, 

Fate,  blindly  cruel  and  havoc-making, 
Stepped  in  and  carried  you  away. 

Memories  have  I   none  in  keeping 

Of  times  I  held  you  near  my  heart, 

Of  dreams  when  we  were  near  to  weeping 

That  dawn  should  bid  us  rise  and  part; 

Never,  alas,  I  saw  you  sleeping 

With  soft  closed  eyes  and  lips  apart, 

Breathing  my  name  still  through  your  dreaming. — 
Ah!  had  you  stayed,  such  things  had  been! 

But  Fate,  unheeding  human  scheming, 

Serenely   reckless   came   between — 

Fate  with  her  cold  eyes  hard  and  gleaming 
Unseared  by  all  the  sorrow  seen. 

Ah !  well-beloved,  I  never  told  you, 

I  did  not  show  in  speech  or  song, 
How  at  the  end  I  longed  to  fold  you 

86 


Close  in  my  arms;  so  fierce  and  strong 
The  longing  grew  to  have  and  hold  you, 
You,  and  you  only,  all  life  long. 

They  who  know  nothing  call  me  fickle, 
Keen  to  pursue  and  loth  to  keep. 

Ah,  could  they  see  these  tears  that  trickle 

From  eyes  erstwhile  too  proud  to  weep. 

Could  see  me,  prone,  beneath  the  sickle, 

While  pain  and  sorrow  stand  and  reap! 

Unopened  scarce,   yet  overblown,   lie 

The  hopes  that  rose-like  round  me  grew, 

The  lights  are  low,  and  more  than  lonely 
This  life  I  lead  apart  from  you. 

Come  back,  come  back!     I  want  you  only, 
And  you  who  loved  me  never  knew. 

You  loved  me,  pleaded  for  compassion 

On  all  the  pain  I  would  not  share; 

And  I  in  weary,  halting  fashion 

Was  loth  to  listen,  long  to  care; 

But  now,  dear  God!  I  faint  with  passion 
For  your  far  eyes  and  distant  hair. 

Yes,  I  am  faint  with  love,  and  broken 

With  sleepless  nights  and  empty  days, 

I  want  your  soft  words  fiercely  spoken, 

Your  tender  looks  and  wayward  ways — 

Want  that  strange  smile  that  gave  me  token 
Of  many  things  that  no  man  says. 

87 


Cold  was  I,  weary,  slow  to  waken 

Till,  startled  by  your  ardent  eyes, 

I  felt  the  soul  within  me  shaken 

And  long-forgotten  senses  rise; 

But  in  that  moment  you  were  taken, 

And  thus  we  lost  our  Paradise! 

Farewell,  we  may  not  now  recover 

That  golden  "Then"  misspent,  passed  by, 
We  shall  not  meet  as  loved  and  lover 

Here,  or  hereafter,  you  and  I. 
My  time  for  loving  you  is  over, 

Love  has  no  future,  but  to  die. 

And  thus  we  part,  with  no  believing 
In  any  chance  of  future  years. 

We  have  no  idle  self-deceiving, 

No  half-consoling  hopes  and  fears; 

We  know  the  Gods  grant  no  retrieving 

A  wasted  chance.     Fate  knows  no  tears. 


88 


Verses:     Faiz  Ulla 

Just  in  the  hush  before  dawn 

A  little  wistful  wind  is  born. 

A  little  chilly  errant  breeze, 

That  thrills  the  grasses,  stirs  the  trees. 

And,  as  it  wanders  on  its  way, 

While  yet  the  night  is  cool  and  dark, 

The  first  carol  of  the  lark, — 

Its  plaintive  murmurs  seem  to  say 

"I  wait  the  sorrows  of  the  day." 


89 


Two  Songs  by  Sitara,  of  Kashmir 

Beloved!  your  hair  was  golden 
As  tender  tints  of  sunrise, 
As  corn  beside  the  River 

In  softly  varying  hues. 
I  loved  you  for  your  slightness, 
Your  melancholy  sweetness, 
Your  changeful  eyes,  that  promised 

What  your  lips  would  still  refuse. 

You  came  to  me,  and  loved  me, 
Were  mine  upon  the  River, 
The  azure  water  saw  us 

And  the  blue  transparent  sky; 
The  Lotus  flowers  knew  it, 
Our  happiness  together, 
While  life  was  only  River, 

Only  love,  and  you  and  I. 

Love  wakened  on  the  River, 
To  sounds  of  running  water, 
With  silver  Stars  for  witness 

And  reflected  Stars  for  light; 
Awakened  to  existence, 

90 


With  ripples  for  first  mus'ic 
And  sunlight  on  the  River 

For  earliest  sense  of  sight. 

Love  grew  upon  the  River 
Among  the  scented  flowers, 
The  open  rosy  flowers 

Of  the  Lotus  buds  in  bloom — 
Love,  brilliant  as  the  Morning, 
More  fervent  than  the  Noon-day, 
And  tender  as  the  Twilight 

In  its  blue  transparent  gloom. 

Love  died  upon  the  River! 
Cold  snow  upon  the  mountains, 
The  Lotus  leaves  turned  yellow 

And  the  water  very  grey. 
Our  kisses  faint  and  falter, 
The  clinging  hands  unfasten, 
The  golden  time  is  over 

And  our  passion  dies  away. 

Away.     To  be  forgotten, 
A   ripple  on   the   River, 
That  flashes  in  the  sunset, 
That  flashed, — and  died  away. 


91 


Second     Song:     The     Girl     from 
Baltistan 

Throb,  throb,  throb, 
Far  away  in  the  blue  transparent  Night, 
On  the  outer  horizon  of  a  dreaming  consciousness, 
She  hears  the  sound  of  her  lover's  nearing  boat 

Afar,  afloat 
On  the  river's  loneliness,  where  the  Stars  are  the 

only  light; 
Hear  the  sound  of  the  straining  wood 
Like  a  broken  sob 
Of  a  heart's  distress, 
Loving  misunderstood. 

She  lies,  with  her  loose  hair  spent  in  soft  disorder, 
On  a  silken  sheet  with  a  purple  woven  border, 
Every  cell  of  her  brain  is  latent  fire, 
Every  fibre  tense  with  restrained  desire. 

And  the  straining  oars  sound  clearer,  clearer, 
The  boat  is  approaching  nearer,  nearer; 
"How   to   wait   through    the   moments'   space 
Till  I  see  the  light  of  my  lover's  face?" 

Throb,  throb,  throb, 
92 


The  sound  dies  down  the  stream 

Till  it  only  clings  at  the  senses'  edge 

Like  a   half-remembered   dream. 

Doubtless,  he  in  the  silence  lies, 

His  fair  face  turned  to  the  tender  skies, 

Starlight  touching  his  sleeping  eyes. 

While  his  boat  caught  in  the  thickset  sedge 

And  the  waters  round  it  gurgle  and  sob, 

Or  floats  set  free  on  the  river's  tide, 

Oars  laid  aside. 

She  is  awake  and  knows  no  rest, 
Passion  dies  and  is  dispossessed 

Of  his  brief,  despotic  power. 
But  the  Brain,  once  kindled,  would  still  be  afire 
Were  the  whole  wyorld  pasture  to  its  desire, 
And  all  of  love,  in  a  single  hour, — 
A  single  wine  cup,  filled  to  the  brim, 

Given  to  slake  its  thirst. 

Some  there  are  who  are  thus-wise  cursed; 
Times  that  follow  fulfilled  desire 
Are  of  all  their  hours  the  worst. 
They  find  no  Respite  and  reach  no  Rest, 
Though  passion  fail  and  desire  grow  dim, 

No  assuagement  comes  from  the  thing  pos- 
sessed 
For  possession  feeds  the  fire. 

"Oh,   for  the   life   of   the   bright  hued   things 
Whose  marriage  and  death  are  one, 

93 


A  floating  fusion  on  golden  wings. 
Alit  with  passion  and  sun! 

"But  we  who  re-marry  a  thousand  times, 

As  the  spirit  or  senses  will, 
In  a  thousand  ways,  in  a  thousand  climes, 

We  remain  unsatisfied  still." 

As  her  lover  left  her,  alone,  awake  she  lies, 
With  a  sleepless  brain  and  weary,  half-closed  eyes. 
She  turns  her  face  where  the  purple  silk  is  spread, 
Still  sweet  with  delicate  perfume  his  presence  shed. 
Her  arms  remembered  his  vanished  beauty  still, 
And,    reminiscent   of    clustered    curls,    her    fingers 

thrill. 
While  the  wonderful,  Starlit  Night  wears  slowly  on 
Till  the  light  of  another  day,  serene  and  wan, 

Pierces  the  eastern  skies. 


94 


Palm  Trees  by  the  Sea 

Love,  let  me  thank  you  for  this! 

Now  we  have  drifted  apart, 
Wandered  away  from  the  sea, — 

For  the  fresh  touch  of  your  kiss, 
For  the  young  warmth  of  your  heart, 

For  your  youth  given  to  me. 

Thanks:  for  the  curls  of  your  hair, 
Softer  than  silk  to  the  hand, 

For  the  clear  gaze  of  your  eyes. 
For  yourself:   delicate,   fair, 

Seen  as  you  lay  on  the  sand, 
Under  the  violet  skies. 

Thanks:  for  the  words  that  you  said,— 

Secretly,    tenderly  sweet, 
All  through  the  tropical  day, 

Till,  when  the  sunset  was  red, 
I,  who  lay  still  at  your  feet, 

Felt  my  life  ebbing  away, 

Weary  and  worn  with  desire, 
Only  yourself  could  console. 
Love  let  me  thank  you  for  this! 

95 


For  that  fierce  fervour  and  fire 
Burnt  through  my  lips  to  my  soul 
From  the  white  heat  of  your  kiss! 

You  were  the  essence  of  Spring, 
Wayward  and  bright  as  a  flame: 

Though  we  have  drifted  apart, 
Still  how  the  syllables  sing 

Mixed  in  your  musical  name, 
Deep  in  the  well  of  my  heart! 

Once  in  the  lingering  light, 

Thrown  from  the  west  on  the  Sea, 
Laid  you  your  garments  aside, 

Slender  and  goldenly  bright, 
Glimmered  your  beauty,  set  free, 

Bright  as  a  pearl  in  the  tide. 

Once,  ere  the  thrill  of  the  dawn 
Silvered  the  edge  of  the  sea, 

I,  who  lay  watching  you  rest, — 
Pale  in  the  chill  of  the  morn 

Found  you  still   dreaming  of  me 
Stilled  by  love's  fancies  possessed. 

Fallen  on  sorrowful  days, 

Love,  let  me  thank  you  for  this, 

You  were  so  happy  with  me! 

Wrapped  in  Youth's  roseate  haze, 

Wanting  no  more  than  my  kiss 
By  the  blue  edge  of  the  sea! 

96 


Ah,  for  those  nights  on  the  sand 
Under  the  palms  by  the  sea, 

For  the  strange  dream  of  those  days 
Spent  in  the  passionate  land, 

For  your  youth  given  to  me, 
I  am  your  debtor  always! 


97 


Song  by  Gulbaz 


"Is  it  safe  to  lie  so  lonely  when  the  summer  twilight 

closes 
No    companion    maidens,    only    you    asleep    among 

the  roses? 

"Thirteen,   fourteen   years  you   number,   and  your 

hair  is  soft  and  scented, 
Perilous    is    such    a    slumber    in    the    twilight    all 

untented. 

"Lonely    loveliness   means    danger,    lying   in    your 

rose-leaf  nest, 
What  if  some  young  passing  stranger  broke   into 

your  careless  rest?" 

But  she   would   not  heed   the   warning,   lay  alone 

serene  and  slight, 
Till  the  rosy  spears  of  morning  slew  the  darkness 

of   the   night. 

Young    love,    walking    softly,    found    her,    in    the 

scented,  shady  closes, 
Threw  his  ardent  arms  around  her,  kissed  her  lips 

beneath  the  roses. 
98 


And   she   said,   with   smiles   and    blushes,    "Would 

that  I  had  sooner  known ! 
Never  now   the  morning   thrushes  wake   and   find 

me  all  alone. 

"Since  you  said  the  rose-leaf  cover  sweet  protection 

gave,  but  slight, 
I  have  found  this  dear  young  lover  to  protect  mc 

through  the  night!" 


99 


Kashmiri  Song 

Pale  hands  I  love  beside  the  Shalimar, 

Where  are  you   now?     Who   lies  beneath  your 

spell? 

Whom  do  you  lead  on  Rapture's  roadway,  far, 
Before  you  agonise  them  in  farewell? 

Oh,  pale  dispensers  of  my  Joys  and  Pains, 
Holding  the  doors  of  Heaven  and  of  Hell, 

How  the  hot  blood  rushed  wildly  through  the  veins 
Beneath  your  touch,  until  you  waved  farewell. 

Pale  hands,  pink  tipped,  like  Lotus  buds  that  float 
On  those  cool  waters  where  we  used  to  dwell, 

I  would  have  rather  felt  you  round  my  throat, 
Crushing  out  life,  than  waving  me  farewell! 


IOO 


Reverie  of  Ormuz  the  Persian 

Softly  the  feathery  Palm-trees  fade  in  the  violet 

Distance, 
Faintly  the  lingering  light  touches  the  edge  of  the 

sea, 
Sadly   the    Music   of   Waves,    drifts,    faint   as    an 

Anthem's  insistence, 
Heard  in  the  aisles  of  a  dream,  over  the  sandhills, 

to  me. 

Now  that  the  Lights  are  reversed,  and  the  Singing 

changed  into  sighing, 
Now  that  the  wings  of  our  fierce,  fugitive  passion 

are  furled, 
Take  I  unto  myself,  all  alone  in  the  light  that  is 

dying, 
Much  of  the  sorrow  that  lies  hid  at  the  Heart  of 

the  World. 

Sad  am  I,  sad  for  your  loss:  for  failing  the  charm 

of  your  presence, 
Even  the  sunshine  has  paled,  leaving  the  Zenith  less 

blue. 
Even  the  ocean  lessens  the  light  of  its  green  opal- 
escence, 
IOI 


Since,  to  my  sorrow  I  loved,  loved  and  grew  weary 

of,  you. 

Why  was  our  passion  so  fleeting,  why  had  the  flush 

of  your  beauty 
Only  so  slender  a  spell,,  only  so  futile  a  power? 
Yet,  even  thus  ever  is  life,  save  when  long  custom 

or   duty 
Moulds  into  sober  fruit  Love's  fragile  and  fugitive 

flower. 

Fain  would  my  soul  have  been  faithful;  never  an 

alien  pleasure 
Lured  me  away  from  the  light  lit  in  your  luminous 

eyes, 
But  we  have  altered  the  World  as  pitiful  man  has 

leisure 
To  criticise,   balance,   take  counsel,   assuredly  lies. 

All   through   the  centuries   Man  has   gathered  his 

flower,  and  fenced  it, 
— Infinite    strife    to    attain;    infinite    struggle    to 

keep, — 
Holding    his    treasure    awhile,    all    Fate    and    all 

forces  against  it, 
Knowing  it  his  no  more,  if  ever  his  vigilance  sleep. 

But  we  have  altered  the  World  as  pitiful  man  has 

grown  stronger, 
So  that  the  things  we  love  are  as  easily  kept  as  won, 

I02 


Therefore  the  ancient  fight  can  engage  and  detain 

us  no  longer, 
And  all  too  swiftly,  alas,  passion  is  over  and  done. 

Far  too  speedily  now  we  can  gather  the  coveted 

treasure, 
Enjoy  it  awhile,  be  satiated,  begin  to  tire; 
And    what    shall    be    done    henceforth    with     the 

profitless  after-leisure, 
Who  has  the  breath  to  kindle  the  ash  of  a  faded  fire? 

Ah,    if    it    only    had    lasted!     After    my    ardent 

endeavour 
Came  the  delirious  Joy,  flooding  my  life  like  a  sea, 
Days  of  delight  that  are  burnt  on   the  brain   for 

ever  and  ever, 
Days  and  nights  when  you  loved,  before  you  grew 

weary  of  me. 

Softly  the  sunset  decreases  dim  in  the  violet  Distance, 
Even  as  Love's  own  fervour  has  faded  away  from 

me, 
Leaving  the  weariness,  the  monotonous  Weight  of 

Existence, — 
All  the  farewells  in  the  world  weep  in  the  sound 

of  the  sea. 


103 


Sunstroke 

Oh,  straight,  white  road  that  runs  to  meet, 

Across  green  fields,  the  blue  green  sea, 

You  knew  the  little  weary  feet 

Of  my  child  bride  that  was  to  be! 

Her  people  brought  her  from  the  shore 
One  golden  day  in  sultry  June, 

And  I   stood,  waiting,  at  the  door, 

Praying  my  eyes  might  see  her  soon. 

With  eager  arms,   wide  open   thrown, 

Now  never  to  be  satisfied ! 
Ere  I  could  make  my  love  my  own 

She  closed  her  amber  eyes  and  died. 

Alas!  alas!  they  took  no  heed 

How  frail  she  was,  my  little  one, 
But  brought  her  here  with  cruel  speed 

Beneath  the  fierce,  relentless  sun. 

We  laid  her  on  the  marriage  bed 

The  bridal  flowers  in  her  hand, 

A  maiden  from  the  ocean  led 

Only,  alas!  to  die  inland. 
104 


I  walk  alone;  the  air  is  sweet, 

The  white  road  wanders  to  the  sea, 
I  dream  of  those  two  little  feet 

That  grew  so  tired  in  reaching  me. 


IOS 


Adoration 

Who  does  not  feel  desire  unending 
To  solace  through  his  daily  strife, 

With  some  mysterious  Mental  Blending, 
The  hungry  loneliness  of  life? 

Until,  by  sudden  passion  shaken, 
As  terriers  shake  a  rat  at  play, 

He  finds,  all  blindly,  he  has  taken 
The  old,  Hereditary  way. 

Yet,  in  the  moment  of  communion, 
The  very  heart  of  passion's  fire, 

His  spirit  spurns  the  mortal  union, 
"Not  this,  not  this,  the  Soul's  desire!" 


Oh  You,  by  whom  my  life  is  riven, 
And  reft  away  from  my  control, 

Take  back  the  hours  of   passion  given! 
Love  me  one  moment  from  your  soul. 

Although  I  once,  in  ardent  fashion, 
Implored  you  long  to  give  me  this; 

106 


(In  hopes  to  stem,  or  stifle,  passion) 
Your  hair  to  touch,  your  lips  to  kiss 

Now  that  your  gracious  self  has  granted 
The  loveliness  you  hold  as  naught, 

I  find,  alas!  not  that  I  wanted — 
Possession  has  not  stifled  Thought. 

Desire  its  aim  has  only  shifted, — 

Built  hopes  upon  another  plan, 
And  I  in  love  for  you  have  drifted 

Beyond  all  passion  known  to  man. 

Beyond  all  dreams  of  soft  caresses 

The  solacing  of  any  kiss, — 
Beyond  the  fragrance  of  your  tresses 

(Once  I  had  sold  my  soul  for  this!) 

But  now  I  crave  no  mortal  union 

(Thanks  for  that  sweetness  in  the  past)  ; 

I  need  some  subtle,  strange  communion, 
Some  sense  that  /  join  you  at  last. 

Long  past  the  pulse  and  pain  of  passion, 
Long  left  the  limits  of  all  love, — 

I  crave  some  nearer,  fuller  fashion, 
Some  unknown  way,  beyond,  above, — 

Some  infinitely  inner  fusion, 

As  Wave  with  Water;  Flame  with  Fire,- 

107 


Let  me  dream  once  the  dear  delusion 
That  I  am  You,  Oh,  Heart's  Desire! 

Your  kindness  lent  to  my  caresses 
That  beauty  you  so  lightly  prize, — 

The  midnight  of  your  sable  tresses, 
The  twilight  of  your  shadowed  eyes. 

Ah,    for   that  gift   all   thanks  are  given! 

Yet,  Oh,  adored,  beyond  control, 
Count  all  the  passionate  past  forgiven 

And  love  me  once,  once,  from  your  soul. 


108 


Three  Songs  of  Zahir-u-Din 

The  tropic  day's  redundant  charms 

Cool  twilight  soothes  away, 
The  sun  slips  down  behind  the  palms 
And  leaves   the  landscape  grey. 

I  want  to  take  you  in  my  arms 
And  kiss  your  lips  away! 

I  wake  with  sunshine  in  my  eyes 

And  find  the  morning  blue, 
A  night  of  dreams  behind  me  lies 
And  all  were  dreams  of  you! 

Ah,  how  I  wish  the  while  1  rise, 
That  what  I  dream  were  true. 

The  weary  day's  laborious  pace, 
I  hasten  and  beguile 

By  fancies,  which  I  backwards  trace 

To  things  I  loved  erstwhile; 

The  weary  sweetness  of  your  face, 
Your    faint,    illusive    smile. 

The  silken  softness  of  your  hair 

Where   faint  bronze  shadows  are, 
Your  strangely  slight  and  youthful  air, 

109 


No  passions  seem   to  mar, — 

Oh,  why,  since  Fate  has  made  you  fair, 
Must  Fortune  keep  you  far? 

Thus  spent,  the  day  so  long  and  bright 

Less   hot   and   brilliant   seems, 
Till  in  a  final  flare  of  light 

The  sun  withdraws  his  beams. 

Then,  in  the  coolness  of  the  night, 
I  meet  you  in  my  dreams! 


HO 


Second  Song 

How  much  I  loved  that  way  you  had 
Of  smiling  most,  when  very  sad, 
A  smile  which  carried  tender  hints 

Of  delicate  tints 

And   warbling  birds, 

Of  sun  and  spring, 
And  yet,  more  than  all  other  thing, 
Of  Weariness  beyond  all  Words! 

None  other  ever  smiled  that  way, 

None  that  I  know, — 
The  essence  of  all  Gaiety  lay, 
Of  all  mad  mirth  that  men  may  know, 
In  that  sad  smile,  serene   and  slow, 
That  on  your  lips  was  wont  to  play. 

It  needed  many  delicate  lines 
And  subtle  curves  and  roseate  tints 
To  make  that  weary  radiant  smile; 
It  flickered,  as  beneath  the  vines 
The  sunshine  through   green   shadow  glints 
On  the  pale  path  that  lies  below, 
Flickered  and  flashed,  and  died  away, 

I  I  I 


But  the  strange  thoughts  it  woke  meanwhile 
Were  wont  to  stay. 

Thoughts  of  Strange  Things  you  used  to  know 

In  dim,  dead  lives,  lived  long  ago, 

Some  madly  mirthful   Merriment 

Whose   lingering   light   is   yet   unspent, — 

Some  unimaginable  Woe, — 

Your     strange,   sad  smile   forgets  these  not, 

Though   you,   yourself,   long  since,   forgot! 


112 


Third  Song,  written  during  Fever 

To-night  the  clouds  hang  very  low, 

They  take  the  Hill-tops  to  their  breast, 
And  lay  their  arms  about  the  fields. 

The  wind  that  fans  me  lying  low, 

Restless  with  great  desire  for  rest, 
No  cooling  touch  of  freshness  yields. 

I,  sleepless  through  the  stifling  heat, 

Watch  the  pale  Lightning's  constant  glow 
Between  the  wide  set  open  doors. 

I  lie  and  long  amidst  the  heat, — 
The  fever  that  my  senses  know, 
For  that  cool  slenderness  of  yours. 

So   delicate   and   cool  you   are! 

A  roseleaf  that  has  lain  in  snow, 

A  snowflake  tinged  with  sunset  fire. 
You  do  not  know,  so  young  you  are, 

How  Fever  fans  the  senses'  glow 

To    uncontrollable    desire! 

And   fills  the  spaces  of  the  night 

With   furious  and  frantic  thought, 
One  would  not  dare  to  think  by  day. 

113 


Ah,   if  you  came  to  me  to-night 

These  visions  would  be  turned  to  naught, 
These  hateful  dreams  be  held  at  bay! 

But  you  are  far,  and  Loneliness 

My  only  lover  through  the  night; 
And  not  for  any  word  or  prayer 

Would  you   console  my   loneliness 

Or  lend  yourself,  serene  and  slight, 
And  the  cool  clusters  of  your  hair. 

All  through  the  night  I  long  for  you, 
As  shipwrecked  men  in  tropics  yearn 
For  the  fresh  flow  of  streams  and  springs. 

My  fevered  fancies  follow  you 
As  dying  men  in  deserts  turn 
Their  thoughts  to  clear  and  chilly  things. 

Such  dreams  are  mine,  and  such  my  thirst, 

Unceasing  and  unsatisfied, 

Until  the  night  is  burnt  away 
Among  these  dreams  and   fevered  thirst, 

And,  through  the  open  doorways,  glide 

The  white  feet  of  the  coming  day. 


114 


The  Regret  of  the  Ranee 
in  the  Hall  of  Peacocks 

This  man  has  taken  my  Husband's  life 

And  laid  my  Brethren  low, 
No  sister  indeed,  were  I,  no  wife, 

To  pardon  and  let  him  go. 

Yet  why  does  he  look  so  young  and  slim 
As  he  weak  and  wounded  lies? 

How  hard  for  me  to  be  harsh  to  him 
With  his  soft,   appealing  eyes. 

His  hair  is  ruffled  upon  the  stone 
And  the  slender  wrists  are  bound, 

So  young!     and  yet  he  has  overthrown 
His  scores  on  the  battle  ground. 

Would  I  were  only  a  slave  to-day, 
To  whom  it  were  right  and  meet 

To  wash  the  stains  of  the  War  away, 
The  dust  from  the  weary  feet. 

Were  I  but  one  of  my  serving  girls 
To  solace  his  pain  to  rest! 

115 


Shake  out  the  sand  from  the  soft  loose  curls, 
And  hold  him  against  my  breast! 

Have  we  such  beauty  around  our  Throne? 

Such  lithe  and  delicate  strength  ? 
Would  God  that  I  were  the  senseless  stone 

To  support  his  slender  length ! 

I  hate  those  wounds  that  trouble  my  sight, 
Unknown !     how  I  wish  you  lay, 

Alone  in  my  silken  tent  to-night 
While  I  charmed  the  pain  away. 

I  would  lay  you  down  on  the  Royal  bed, 
I  would  bathe  your  wounds  with  wine, 

And  setting  your  feet  against  my  head 
Dream  you  were  lover  of  mine. 

My  Crown  is  heavy  upon  my  hair, 

The  Jewels  weigh  on  my  breast, 
All  1  would  leave,  with  delight,  to  share 

Your  pale  and  passionate  rest! 

But  hands  grow   restless  about  their  swords, 

Lips  murmur  below  their  breath, 
"The  Queen  is  silent  too  long!"     "My  Lords, 

— Take  him  away  to  death!" 


116 


Protest:     By  Zahir-u-Din 

Alas!     alas!     this   wasted    Night 
With  all  its  Jasmin-scented  air, 
Its  thousand  stars,  serenely  bright! 
I  lie  alone,  and  long  for  you, 
Long  for  your  Champa-scented  hair, 
Your  tranquil  eyes  of  twilight  hue; 

Long  for  the  close-curved,  delicate  lips 
— Their  sinuous  sweetness  laid  on  mine — 
Here,  where  the  slender  fountain  drips, 
Here,  where  the  yellow  roses  glow, 
Pale  in  the  tender  silver  shine 
The  stars  across  the  garden  throw. 

Alas!     alas!     poor  passionate  Youth! 
Why  must  we  spend  these  lonely  nights? 
The  poets  hardly  speak  the  truth, — 
Despite  their  praiseful  litany, 
His  season  is  not  all  delights 
Nor  every  night  an  ecstasy! 

The  very  power  and   passion   that  make — 
Might  make — his  days  one  golden  dream, 
How  he  must  suffer  for  their  sake! 

117 


Till,  in  their  fierce  and  futile  rage, 
The  baffled  senses  almost  deem 
They  might  be  happier  in  old  age. 

Age  that  can  find  red  roses  sweet, 
And  yet  not  crave  a  rose-red  mouth; 
Hear  Bulbuls,  with  no  wish  that  feet 
Of  sweeter  singers  went  his  way; 
Inhale  warm  breezes  from  the  South, 
Yet  never  feel  his  fancy  stray. 

From  some  near  Village  I  can  hear 
The  cadenced  throbbing  of  a  drum, 
Now  softly  distant,  now  more  near; 
And  in  an  almost  human  fashion, 
It,  plaintive,  wistful,  seems  to  come 
Laden  with  sighs  of  fitful  passion, 

To  mock  me,  lying  here  alone 
Among  the  thousand  useless  flowers 
Upon  the  fountain's  border-stone — 
Cold  stone,  that  chills  me  as  I  lie 
Counting  the  slowly  passing  hours 
By  the  white  spangles  in  the  sky. 

Some  feast  the  Tom-toms  celebrate, 
Where,  close  together,  side  by  side, 
Gay  in  their  gauze  and  tinsel  state 
With  lips  serene  and  downcast  eyes, 
Sit  the  young  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
While  round  them  songs  and  laughter  rise. 

118 


They  are  together ;    Why  are  we 
So  hopelessly,  so  far  apart? 
Oh,   1  implore  you,  come  to  me! 
Come  to  me,  Solace  of  mine  eyes! 
Come  Consolation  of  my  heart! 
Light  of  my  senses!     What  replies? 

A  little,   languid,   mocking  breeze 
That  rustles  through  the  Jasmin  flowers 
And  stirs  among  the  Tamarind  trees; 
A  little  gurgle  of  the  spray 
That  drips,  unheard,  though  silent  hours, 
Then  breaks  in  sudden  bubbling  play. 

Wind,  have  you  never  loved  a  rose? 
And  water,  seek  you  not  the  Sea? 
Why,  therefore,  mock  at  my  repose? 
Is  it  my  fault  I  am  alone 
Beneath  the  feathery  Tamarind  tree 
Whose  shadows  over  me  are  thrown? 

Nay,  I  am  mad  indeed,  with  thirst 
For  all  to  me  this  night  denied 
And  drunk  with   longing,  and  accurst 
Beyond  all  chance  of  sleep  or  rest, 
With  love,  unslaked,  unsatisfied, 
And  dreams  of  beauty  unpossessed. 

Hating  the  hour  that  brings  you  not, 
Mad  at  the  space  betwixt  us  twain, 
Sad  for  my  empty  arms,  so  hot 

119 


And  fevered,  even  the  chilly  stone 
Can  scarcely  cool  their  burning  pain, — 
And  oh,  this  sense  of  being  alone! 

Take  hence,  O  Night,  your  wasted  hours, 
You  bring  me  not  my  Life's  Delight, 
My  Star  of  Stars,  my  Flower  of  Flowers! 
You  leave  me  loveless  and  forlorn, 
Pass  on,  most  false  and  futile  night, 
Pass  on,  and  perish  in  the  Dawn! 


120 


Famine  Song 

Death  and  Famine  on  every  side 

And   never  a  sign  of  rain, 
The  bones  of  those  who  have  starved  and  died 

Unburied  upon  the  plain. 
What  care  have  I  that  the  bones  bleach  white? 

To-morrow   they   may   be   mine, 
But  I  shall  sleep  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  drink  your  lips  like  wine! 

Cholera,  Riot,  and  Sudden  Death, 

And  the  brave  red  blood  set  free, 
The  glazing  eye  and  the  failing  breath, — 

But  what  are  these  things  to  me? 
Your  breath  is  quick  and  your  eyes  are  bright 

And  your  blood  is  red  like  wine, 
And  I  shall  sleep  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  hold  your  lips  with  mine! 

I  hear  the  sound  of  a  thousand  tears, 

Like  softly  pattering  rain, 
I  see  the  fever,  folly,  and  fears 

Fulfilling  man's  tale  of  pain. 
121 


But  for  the  moment  your  star  is  bright, 

I  revel  beneath  its  shine, 
For  I  shall  sleep  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  feel  your  lips  on  mine! 

And  you  need  not  deem  me  over  cold, 

That  I  do  not  stop  to  think 
For  all  the  pleasure  this  Life  may  hold 

Is  on   the   Precipice   brink. 
Thought  could  but  lessen  my  soul's  delight, 

And  to-day  she  may  not  pine. 
For  I  shall  lie  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  close  your  lips  with  mine! 

I  trust  what  sorrow  the  Fates  may  send 

I   may  carry  quietly  through, 
And  pray  for  grace  when  I  reach  the  end, 

To  die  as  a  man  should  do. 
To-day,   at  least,   must  be  clear  and  bright, 

Without   a  sorrowful   sign, 
Because  I  sleep  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  feel  your  lips  on  mine! 

So  on  I  work,  in  the  blazing  sun, 

To  bury  what  dead  we  may, 
But  glad,  oh,  glad,  when  the  day  is  done 

And  the  night  falls  round  us  grey. 
Would  those  we  covered  away  from  sight 

Had  a  rest  as  sweet  as  mine! 
For  I  shall  sleep  in  your  arms  to-night 

And  drink  your  lips  like  wine! 
122 


The  Window  Overlooking  the 
Harbour 

Sad  is  the  Evening:     all  the  level  sand 

Lies  left  and  lonely,  while  the  restless  sea, 

Tired  of  the  green  caresses  of  the  land, 
Withdraws  into  its  own  infinity. 

But  still  more  sad  this  white  and  chilly  Dawn 
Filling  the  vacant  spaces  of  the  sky, 

While  little  winds  blow  here  and  there  forlorn 
And  all  the  stars,  weary  of  shining,  die. 

And  more  than  desolate,  to  wake,  to  rise, 

Leaving  the  couch,  where  softly  sleeping  still, 

What  through  the  past  night  made  my  heaven,  lies; 
And  looking  out  across  the  window  sill 

See,  from  the  upper  window's  vantage  ground, 
Mankind   slip   into   harness  once   again, 

And  wearily   resume  his  daily   round 

Of  love  and  labour,  toil  and  strife  and  pain. 

How  the  sad  thoughts  slip  back  across  the  night: 
The  whole  thing  seems  so  aimless  and  so  vain. 

What  use  the  raptures,  passion  and  delight, 

Burnt  out;  as  though  they  could  not  wake  again. 

123 


The  worn-out  nerves  and  weary  brain  repeat 
The  question :  Whither  all  these  passions  tend ; — 

This  curious  thirst,  so  painful  and  so  sweet, 
So  fierce,  so  very  short-lived,  to  what  end? 

Even,  if  seeking  for  ourselves,  the  Race, 
The  only   immortality  we  know, — 

Even  if  from  the  flower  of  our  embrace 

Some  spark  should  kindle,  or  some  fruit  should 

grow, 

What  were  the  use?  the  gain,  to  us  or  it, 
That  we  should  cause  another  You  or  Me, — 

Another  life,  from  our  light  passion  lit, 
To  suffer  like  ourselves  awhile  and  die. 

What  aim,  what  end  indeed?     Our  being  runs 
In  a  closed  circle.     All  we  know  or  see 

Tends  to  assure  us  that  a  thousand  Suns, 

Teeming  perchance  with  life,  have  ceased  to  be. 


Ah,  the  grey  Dawn  seems  more  than  desolate, 
And  the  past  night  of  passion  worse  than  waste, 

Love  but  a  useless  flower,  that  soon  or  late, 
Turns  to  a  fruit  with  bitter  aftertaste. 

Youth,  even  Youth,  seems  futile  and  forlorn 
While  the  new  day  grows  slowly  white  above. 

Pale  and  reproachful  comes  the  chilly  Dawn 
After  the  fervour  of  a  night  of  love. 

124 


Back  to  the  Border 

The  tremulous  morning  is  breaking 

Against  the  white  waste  of  the  sky, 
And  hundreds  of  birds  are  awaking 

In  tamarisk  bushes  hard  by. 
I,   waiting  alone  in  the  station, 

Can  hear  in  the  distance,  grey-blue, 
The  sound  of  that  iron  desolation, 

The  train  that  will  bear  me  from  you. 

'T  will  carry  me  under  your  casement, 

You'll  feel  in  your  dreams  as  you  lie 
The  quiver,  from  gable  to  basement, 

The  rush  of  my  train  sweeping  by. 
And  I  shall  look  out  as  I  pass  it, — 

Your  dear,   unforgettable  door, 
'T  was  ours  till  last  night,  but  alas!    it 

Will  never  be  mine  any  more. 

Through  twilight  blue-grey  and  uncertain, 
Where  frost  leaves  the  window-pane  free, 

I'll  look  at  the  tinsel-edged  curtain 
That  hid  so  much  pleasure  for  me. 

I  go  to  my  long  undone  duty 

125 


Alone  in  the  chill  and  the  gloom, 
My  eyes  are  still  full  of  the  beauty 
I  leave  in  your  rose-scented  room. 

Lie  still  in  your  dreams ;  for  your  tresses 

Are  free  of  my  lingering  kiss. 
I  keep  you  awake  with  caresses 

No  longer;  be  happy  in  this! 
From  passion  you  told  me  you  hated 

You're  now  and  for  ever  set  free, 
I  pass  in  my  train,  sorrow-weighted, 

Your  house  that  was  Heaven  to  me. 

You  won't  find  a  trace,  when  you  waken, 

Of  me  or  my  love  of  the  past, 
Rise  up  and  rejoice!     I  have  taken 

My  longed-for  departure  at  last. 
My  fervent  and  useless  persistence 

You  never  need  suffer  again, 
Nor  even  perceive  in  the  distance 

The  smoke  of  my  vanishing  train! 


126 


Reverie:  Zahir-u-Din 

Alone,  I  wait,  till  her  twilight  gate 

The      Night      slips      quietly 

through, 
With  shadow  and  gloom,  and  purple  bloom, 

Flung  over  the  Zenith  blue. 

Her  stars  that  tremble,  would  fain  dissemble 

Light   over   lovers   thrown, — 

Her  hush  and  mystery  know  no  history 

Such   as  day  may  own. 

Day  has  record  of  pleasure  and  pain, 

But  things  that  are  done  by  Night  remain 

For  ever  and  ever  unknown. 

For  a  thousand  years,  'neath  a  thousand  skies, 

Night  has  brought  men  love; 

Therefore  the  old,  old  longings  rise 

As  the  light  grows  dim  above. 

Therefore,  now  that  the  shadows  close, 

And   the  mists  weird   and 

white, 
While  Time  is  scented  with  musk  and  rose; 

Magic  with  silver  light. 
127 


I  long  for  love;  will  you  grant  me  some? 

Day  is  over  at  last. 
Come!     as  lovers  have  always  come, 

Through  the  evenings  of  the 

Past. 
Swiftly,  as  lovers  have  always  come, 
Softly,  as  lovers  have  always  come 

Through    the    long-forgotten 

Past. 


128 


Sea  Song 

Against  the  planks  of  the  cabin  side, 

(So  slight  a  thing  between  them  and  me,) 
The  great  waves  thundered  and  throbbed  and  sighed, 
The  great  green  waves  of  the  Indian  sea! 

Your  face  was  white  as  the  foam  is  white, 

Your  hair  was  curled  as  the  waves  are  curled, 

I  would  we  had  steamed  and  reached  that  night 
The  sea's  last  edge,  the  end  of  the  world. 

The  wind  blew  in  through  the  open  port, 
So  freshly  joyous  and  salt  and  free, 

Your  hair  it  lifted,  your  lips  it  sought, 
And  then  swept  back  to  the  open  sea. 

The  engines  throbbed  with  their  constant  beat; 

Your  heart  was  nearer,  and  all  I  heard ; 
Your  lips  were  salt,  but  I  found  them  sweet, 

While,  acquiescent,  you  spoke  no  word. 

So  straight  you  lay  in  your  narrow  berth, 

Rocked  by  the  waves;  and  you  seemed  to  be 
129 


Essence  of  all  that  is  sweet  on  earth, 

Of  all  that  is  sad  and  strange  at  sea. 

And  you  were  white  as  the  foam  is  white, 

Your  hair  was  curled  as  the  waves  are  curled. 

Ah!  had  we  but  sailed  and  reached  that  night, 
The  sea's  last  edge,  the  end  of  the  world ! 


130 


To  the  Hills! 

'T  is  eight  miles  out  and  eight  miles  in, 
Just  at  the  break  of  morn. 

'T  is  ice  without  and  flame  within, 
To  gain  a  kiss  at  dawn ! 

Far,  where  the  Lilac  Hills  arise 
Soft  from  the  misty  plain, 

A  lone  enchanted  hollow  lies 
Where  I  at  last  drew  rein. 

Midwinter  grips  this  lonely  land, 
This  stony,  treeless  waste, 

Where  East,  due  East,  across  the  sand, 
We  fly  in  fevered  haste. 

Pull  up !    the  East  will  soon  be  red, 
The  wild  duck  westward  fly, 

And  make  above  my  anxious  head, 
Triangles  in  the  sky. 

Like  wind  we  go ;  we  both  are  still 
So  young;  all  thanks  to  Fate! 

(It  cuts  like  knives,  this  air  so  chill,) 
Dear  God!     if  I  am  late! 

131 


Behind  us,  wrapped  in  mist  and  sleep 

The  Ruined  City  lies, 
(Although  we  race,  we  seem  to  creep!) 

While  lighter  grow  the  skies. 

Eight  miles  out  only,  eight  miles  in, 

Good  going  all  the  way; 
But  more  and  more  the  clouds  begin 

To  redden  into  day. 

And  every  snow-tipped  peak  grows  pink 

An  iridescent  gem! 
My  heart  beats  quick,  with  joy,  to  think 

How  I  am  nearing  them! 

As  mile  on  mile  behind  us  falls, 

Till,  Oh,  delight!     I  see 
My  Heart's  Desire,  who  softly  calls 

Across  the  gloom  to  me. 

The  utter  joy  of  that  First  Love 

No  later  love  has  given, 
When,  while  the  skies  grew  light  above> 

We  entered  into  Heaven. 


132 


Till  I  Wake 

When  I  am  dying,  lean  over  me  tenderly,  softly, 
Stoop,   as   the  yellow   roses  droop   in   the   wind 

from  the  South. 

So  I  may,  when  I  wake,  if  there  be  an  Awakening, 

Keep,  what  lulled  me  to  sleep,  the  touch  of  your 

lips  on  my  mouth. 


133 


His  Rubies:     Told  by  Valgovind 

Along  the  hot  and  endless  road, 

Calm  and  erect,  with  haggard  eyes, 
The  prisoner  bore  his  fetters'  load 

Beneath  the  scorching,  azure  skies. 

Serene  and  tall,  with  brows  unbent, 

Without  a  hope,  without  a  friend, 
He,  under  escort,  onward  went, 

With  death  to  meet  him  at  the  end. 

The  Poppy  fields  were  pink  and  gay 

On  either  side,  and  in  the  heat 
Their  drowsy  scent  exhaled  all  day 

A  dream-like  fragrance  almost  sweet. 

And  when  the  cool  of  evening  fell 
And   tender  colours  touched  the  sky, 

He  still  felt  youth  within  him  dwell 
And  half  forgot  he  had  to  die. 

Sometimes  at  night,  the  Camp-fires  lit 

And  casting  fitful  light  around, 
His  guard  would,  friend-like,  let  him  sit 

And  talk  awhile  with  them,  unbound. 

134 


Thus  they,  the  night  before  the  last, 
Were  resting,  when  a  group  of  girls 

Across  the  small  encampment  passed, 
With  laughing  lips  and  scented  curls. 

Then  in  the  Prisoner's  weary  eyes 
A  sudden  light  lit  up  once  more, 

The  women  saw  him  with  surprise, 
And  pity  for  the  chains  he  bore. 

For  little  women  reck  of  Crime 

If  young  and   fair  the  criminal  be 

Here  in  this  tropic,  amorous  clime 

Where  love  is  still  untamed  and  free. 

And  one  there  was,  she  walked  less  fast, 
Behind  the  rest,  perhaps  beguiled 

By  his  lithe  form,  who,  as  she  passed, 
Waited  a  little  while,  and  smiled. 

The  guard,  in  kindly  Eastern  fashion, 
Smiled  to  themselves,  and  let  her  stay. 

So  tolerant  of  human  passion, 

"To  love  he  has  but  one  more  day." 

Yet  when   (the  soft  and  scented  gloom 
Scarce  lighted  by  the  dying  fire) 

His  arms  caressed  her  youth  and  bloom, 
With  him  it  was  not  all  desire. 

"For  me,"  he  whispered,  as  he  lay, 

135 


"But  little  life  remains  to  live. 
One  thing  I  crave  to  take  away: 

You  have  the  gift;  but  will  you  give? 

"If  I  could  know  some  child  of  mine 
Would  live  his  life,  and  see  the  sun 

Across  these  fields  of  poppies  shine, 

What  should  I  care  that  mine  is  done? 

"To  die  would  not  be  dying  quite, 

Leaving  a  little  life  behind, 
You,  were  you  kind  to  me  to-night, 

Could  grant  me  this;  but — are  you  kind? 

"See,  I  have  something  here  for  you 
For  you  and  It,  if  It  there  be." 

Soft  in  the  gloom  her  glances  grew, 
With  gentle  tears  he  could  not  see. 

He  took  the  chain  from  off  his  neck, 
Hid  in  the  silver  chain  there  lay 

Three  rubies,  without  flaw  or  fleck. 
She  answered  softly  "I  will  stay." 

He  drew  her  close;  the  moonless  skies 
Shed  little  light;  the  fire  was  dead. 

Soft  pity  filled  her  youthful  eyes, 
And  many  tender  things  she  said. 

Throughout  the  hot  and  silent  night 

136 


All  that  he  asked  of  her  she  gave. 
And,   left  alone  ere  morning  light, 
He  went  serenely  to  the  grave, 

Happy;  for  even  when  the  rope 

Confined  his  neck,  his  thoughts  were  free, 
And  centered  round  his  Secret  Hope 

The  little  life  that  was  to  be. 

When  Poppies  bloomed  again,  she  bore 

His  child  who  gaily  laughed  and  crowed, 

While  round  his  tiny  neck  he  wore 
The  rubies  given  on  the  road. 

For  his  small  sake  she  wished  to  wait, 

But  vainly  to  forget  she  tried, 
And  grieving  for  the  Prisoner's  fate, 
She  broke  her  gentle  heart  and  died. 


137 


Song  of  Taj  Mahomed 

Dear  is  my  inlaid  sword ;  across  the  Border 

It  brought  me  much  reward;  dear  is  my  Mistress, 

The  jewelled  treasure  of  an  amorous  hour. 

Dear  beyond  measure  are  my  dreams  and  Fancies. 

These  I  adore ;  for  these  I  live  and  labour, 
Holding  them  more  than  sword  or  jewelled  Mis- 
tress, 
For  this  indeed  may  rust,  and  that  prove  faithless, 
But,  till  my  limbs  are  dust,  I  have  my  Fancies. 


138 


The  Garden  of  Kama : 
Kama  the  Indian  Eros 

The  daylight  is  dying, 
The   Flying   fox   flying, 

Amber  and  amethyst  burn  in  the  sky. 
See,  the  sun  throws  a  late, 
Lingering,  roseate 

Kiss  to  the  landscape  to  bid  it  good-bye. 

The  time  of  our  Trysting! 
Oh,  come,  unresisting, 

Lovely,   expectant,   on   tentative   feet. 
Shadow  shall  cover  us, 
Roses  bend  over  us, 

Making  a  bride  chamber,  sacred  and  sweet. 

We  know  not  life's  reason, 
The  length  of  its  season, 

Know   not   if   they   know,   the   great   Ones 

above. 
We  none  of  us  sought  it, 
And  few  could  support  it, 

Were  it  not  gilt  with  the  glamour  of  love. 

139 


But  much  is  forgiven 
To  Gods  who  have  given, 

If  but  for  an  hour,  the  Rapture  of  Youth. 
You  do  not  yet  know  it, 
But  Kama  shall  show  it, 

Changing    your    dreams    to    his    Exquisite 

Truth. 


The  Fireflies  shall  light  you, 
And  naught  shall  afright  you, 

Nothing   shall    trouble    the 

Come,  for  I  wait  for  you, 
Night  is  too  late  for  you, 

Come,    while    the    twilight 


Flight    of    the 
Hours. 


is    closing    the 
flowers. 


Every  breeze  still  is, 
And,  scented  with  lilies, 

Cooled  by  the  twilight,  refreshed  by  the  dew, 
The  garden  lies  breathless, 
Where  Kama,  the  Deathless, 

In  the  hushed  starlight,  is  waiting  for  you. 


140 


Camp  Follower's  Song, 
Gonial  River 

We  have  left  Gul  Kach  behind  us, 
Are  marching  on  Apozai, — 

Where  pleasure  and  rest  are  waiting 
To  welcome  us  by  and  by. 

We're  falling  back  from  the  Gomal, 

Across  the  Gir-dao  plain, 
The  camping  ground  is  deserted, 

We'll  never  come  back  again. 

Along  the  rocks  and  the  defiles, 

The  mules  and  the  camels  wind. 

Good-bye   to   Rahimut-Ullah, 

The  man  who  is  left  behind. 

For  some  we  lost  in  the  skirmish, 

And  some  were  killed   in   the  fight, 

But  he  was  captured  by  fever, 
In  the  sentry  pit,  at  night. 

A  rifle  shot  had  been  swifter, 
Less  trouble  a  sabre  thrust, 
141 


But  his  Fate  decided  fever, 

And  each  man  dies  as  he  must. 

Behind  us,  red  in  the  distance, 

The  wavering  flames  rise  high, 

The  flames  of  our  burning  grass-huts, 
Against  the  black  of  the  sky. 

We  hear  the  sound  of  the  river, 
An  ever-lessening  moan, 

The  hearts  of  us  all  turn  backwards 
To  where  he  is  left  alone. 

We  sing  up  a  little  louder, 

We  know  that  we  feel  bereft, 

We're  leaving  the  camp  together, 
And  only  one  of  us  left. 

The  only  one,  out  of  many, 

And  each  must  come  to  his  end, 

I  wish  I  could  stop  this  singing, 
He  happened  to  be  my  friend. 

We're   falling  back  from   the  Gomal 
We're    marching    on    Apozai, 

And  pleasure  and  rest  are  waiting 
To  welcome  us  by  and  by. 

Perhaps  the  feast  will  taste  bitter, 
The  lips  of  the  girls  less  kind, — 

Because  of  Rahimut-Ullah, 

The  man  who  is  left  behind! 
142 


Song  of  the  Colours: 
by  Taj  Mahomed 

Rose-colour 

Rose  Pink  am  I,  the  colour  gleams  and  glows 

In  many  a  flower;  her  lips,  those  tender  doors 
By  which,  in  time  of  love,  love's  essence  flows 

From  him  to  her,  are  dyed  in  delicate  Rose. 
Mine  is  the  earliest  Ruby  light  that  pours 

Out  of  the  East,  when  day's  white  gates  unclose. 

On  downy  peach,  and  maiden's  downier  cheek 
I,  in  a  flush  of  radiant  bloom,  alight, 

Clinging,  at  sunset,  to  the  shimmering  peak 
I  veil  its  snow  in  floods  of  Roseate  light. 

Azure 

Mine  is  the  heavenly  hue  of  Azure  skies, 

Where  the  white  clouds  lie  soft  as  seraphs'  wings, 
Mine  the  sweet,  shadowed  light  in  innocent  eyes, 

Whose  lovely  looks  light  only  on  lovely  things. 

Mine  the  Blue  Distance,  delicate  and  clear, 
Mine  the  Blue  Glory  of  the  morning  sea, 

All  that  the  soul  so  longs  for,  finds  not  here, 
Fond  eyes  deceive  themselves,  and  find  in  me. 

J43 


Scarlet 

Hail!    to  the  Royal  Red  of  living  Blood, 

Let  loose  by  steel  in  spirit-freeing  flood, 
Forced  from  faint  forms,  by  toil  or  torture  torn 

Staining  the  patient  gates  of  life  new  born. 

Colour  of  War  and  Rage,  of  Pomp  and  Show, 
Banners  that  flash,  red  flags  that  flaunt  and  glow, 

Colour  of  Carnage,  Glory,  also  Shame, 
Raiment  of  women  women  may  not  name. 

I  hide  in  mines,  where  unborn  Rubies  dwell, 
Flicker  and  flare  in  fitful  fire  in  Hell, 

The  outpressed  life-blood  of  the  grape  is  mine, 
Hail!  to  the  Royal  Purple  Red  of  Wine. 

Strong  am  I,  over  strong,  to  eyes  that  tire, 
In  the  hot  hue  of  Rapine,  Riot,  Flame. 

Death  and  Despair  are  black,  War  and  Desire, 
The  two  red  cards  in  Life's  unequal  game. 


Green 

I  am  the  Life  of  Forests,  and  Wandering  Streams, 

Green  as  the  feathery  reeds  the  Florican  love, 
Young  as  a  maiden,  who  of  her  marriage  dreams, 

Still  sweetly  inexperienced  in  ways  of  Love. 

Colour  of  Youth  and  Hope,  some  waves  are  mine, 
Some  emerald  reaches  of  the  evening  sky. 

144 


See,  in  the  Spring,  my  sweet  green  Promise  shine, 
Never  to  be  fulfilled,  of  by  and  by. 

Never  to  be  fulfilled ;  leaves  bud,  and  ever 

Something  is  wanting,  something  falls  behind; 

The  flowered  Solstice  comes  indeed,  but  never 
That  light  and  lovely  summer  men  divined. 

Violet 

I  were  the  colour  of  Things,  (if  hue  they  had) 

That  are  hard  to  name. 
Of  curious,  twisted  thoughts  that  men  call  "mad" 

Or  oftener  "shame." 
Of  that  delicate  vice,  that  is  hardly  vice, 

So  reticent,  rare, 
Ethereal,  as  the  scent  of  buds  and  spice, 

In  this  Eastern  air. 

On  palm-fringed  shores  I  colour  the  Cowrie  shell, 

With  its  edges  curled ; 
And,  deep  in  Datura  poison  buds,  I  dwell 

In  a  perfumed  world. 
My  lilac  tinges  the  edge  of  the  evening  sky 

Where  the  sunset  clings. 
My  purple  lends  an  Imperial  Majesty 

To  the  robes  of  kings. 

Yell oiv 

Gold  am  I,  and  for  me,  ever  men  curse  and  pray, 
Selling  their  souls  and  each  other,  by  night  and 

day. 

145 


A  sordid  colour,  and  yet,  I  make  some  things  fair, 
Dying  sunsets,  fields  of  corn,  and  a  maiden's  hair. 

Thus    they    discoursed    in    the    daytime, — Violet, 

Yellow,  and  Blue, 
Emerald,  Scarlet,  and  Rose-colour,  the  pink  and 

perfect  hue. 
Thus  they  spoke  in  the  sunshine  ,  when  their  beauty 

was  manifest, 
Till  the  Night  came,  and  the  Silence,  and  gave 

them  an  equal  rest. 


146 


Lalila,  to  the  Ferengi  Lover 

Why  above  others  was  I  so  blessed 
And  honoured?  to  be  chosen  one 

To  hold  you,  sleeping,  against  my  breast, 
As  now  I  may  hold  your  only  son. 

Twelve  months  ago;  that  wonderful  night! 

You  gave  your  life  to  me  in  a  kiss; 
Have  I  done  well,  for  that  past  delight, 

In   return,   to  have  given  you   this? 

Look  down  at  his  face,  your  face,  beloved, 
His  eyes  are  azure  as  yours  are  blue. 

In  every  line  of  his  form  is  proved 

How  well  I  loved  you,  and  only  you. 

I  felt  the  secret  hope  at  my  heart 

Turned  suddenly  to  the  living  joy, 

And  knew  that  your  life  and  mine  had  part 
As  golden  grains  in  a  brass  alloy. 

And  learning  thus,  that  your  child  was  mine, 
Thrilled  by  the  sense  of  its  stirring  life, 

I  held  myself  as  a  sacred  shrine 

Afar  from  pleasure,  and  pain,  and  strife, 

H7 


That  all  unworthy  I  might  not  be 

Of  that  you  had  deigned  to  cause  to  dwell 

Hidden  away  in  the  heart  of  me, 

As  white  pearls  hide  in  a  dusky  shell. 

Do  you  remember,  when  first  you   laid 

Your  lips  on  mine,  that  enchanted  night? 

My  eyes  were  timid,  my  lips  afraid, 

You  seemed  so  slender  and  strangely  white. 

I  always  tremble ;  the  moments  flew 

Swiftly  to  dawn  that  took  you  away, 

But  this  is  a  small  and  lovely  you 

Content  to  rest  in  my  arms  all  day. 

Oh,  since  you  have  sought  me,  Lord,  for  this, 
And  given  your  only  child  to  me, 

My  life  devoted  to  yours  and  his, 

Whilst  I  am  living,  will  always  be. 

And  after  death,  through  the  long  To  Be, 

(Which,  I  think,  must  surely  keep  love's  laws,) 

I,  should  you  chance  to  have  need  of  me, 
Am  ever  and  always,  only  yours. 


148 


On  the  City  Wall 

Upon  the  City  Ramparts,  lit  up  by  sunset  gleam, 
The  Blue  eyes  that  conquer,  meet  the  Darker  eyes 

that  dream. 

The  Dark  eyes,  so  Eastern,  and  the  Blue  eyes  from 

the  West, 
The  last  alight  with  action,  the  first  so  full  of  rest. 

Brown,    that    seem    to   hold    the    Past;    its    magic 

mystery, 
Blue,  that  catch  the  early  light,  of  ages  yet  to  be. 

Meet   and  fall  and  meet  again,  then  linger,  look, 

and  smile, 
Time  and  distance  all  forgotten,  for  a  little  while. 

Happy  on  the  city  wall,  in  the  warm  spring  weather, 
All  the  force  of  Nature's  laws,  drawing  them  to- 
gether. 

East  and  West  so  gaily  blending,  for  a  little  space, 
All     the    sunshine    seems    to     centre,     round     th' 

Enchanted  place! 
149 


One  rides  down  the  dusty  road,  one  watches  from 

the  wall, 
Azure   eyes   would   fain    return,    and   Amber   eyes 

recall ; 

Would  fain  be  on  the  ramparts,  and  resting  heart  to 

heart, 
But  time  o'  love  is  overpast,  East  and  West  must 

part. 

Blue  eyes  so  clear  and  brilliant!     Brown  eyes  so 

dark  and  deep ! 
Those  are  dim,  and  ride  away,  these  cry  themselves 

to  sleep. 

"Oh,  since  Love  is  all  so  short,  the  sob  so  near  the 

smile, 
Blue  eyes  that  always  conquer  us,  is  it  worth  your 

while  f 


i5° 


"Love  Lightly" 


There  were  Roses  in  the  hedges,  and  Sunshine  in 

the  sky, 

Red  Lilies  in  the  sedges,  where  the  water  rippled  by, 

A  thousand  Bulbuls  singing,  oh,  how  jubilant  they 

were, 

And  a  thousand  flowers  flinging  their  sweetness  on 

the  air. 

But  you,  who  sat  beside  me,  had  a  shadow  in  your 

eyes, 
Their  sadness  seemed  to  chide  me,  when  I  gave  you 

scant  replies; 
You  asked  "Did  I  remember?"  and  "When  had  I 

ceased  to  care?" 
In  vain  you  fanned  the  ember,  for  the  love  flame 

was  not  there. 

"And  so,  since  you  are  tired  of  me,  you  ask  me  to 

forget, 
What  is  the  use  of  caring,  now  that  you  no  longer 

care? 
When   Love   is  dead   his   Memory  can  only  bring 

regret 

151 


But  how  can  I  forget  you  with  the  flowers  in  your 

hair?" 

What  use  the  scented  Roses,  or  the  azure  of  the  sky  ? 
They  are  sweet  when  Love  reposes,  but  then  he  had 

to  die. 
What  could   I  do  in  leaving  you,  hut  ask  you  to 

forget, — 
I  suffered,  too,  in  grieving  you ;  I  all  but  loved  you 

yet. 

But  half  love  is  a  treason,  that  no  lover  can  forgive, 
I  had  loved  you  for  a  season,  I  had  no  more  to  give. 
You  saw  my  passion  faltered,  for  I  could  but  let 

you  see, 
And  it  was  not  I  that  altered,  but  Fate  that  altered 

me. 

And  so,  since  I  am  tired  of  love,  I  ask  you  to  forget, 
What  is  the  use  you  caring,  now  that  I  no  longer 

care? 
When  Love  is  dead,  his  Memory  can  only  bring 

regret ; 
Forget  me,  oh,  forget  me,  and  my  flower-scented 

hair! 


152 


No  Rival  Like  the  Past 

As  those  who  eat  a  Luscious  Fruit,  sunbaked, 
Full  of  sweet  juice,  with  zest,  until  they  find 

It  finished,  and  their  appetite  unslaked, 

And  so  return  and  eat  the  pared-off  rind ; — 

We,   who   in   Youth,  set  white  and  careless  teeth 
In  the  Ripe  Fruits  of  Pleasure  while  they  last, 

Later,  creep  back  to  gnaw  the  cast-off  sheath, 
And  find  there  is  no  Rival  like  the  Past. 


153 


Verse  by  Taj  Mahomed 

When  first  I  loved,  I  gave  my  very  soul 

Utterly  unreserved  to  Love's  control, 

But  Love  deceived  me,  wrenched  my  youth  away 

And  made  the  gold  of  life  for  ever  grey. 

Long  I  lived  lonely,  yet  I  tried  in  vain 

With  any  other  Joy  to  stifle  pain ; 

There  is  no  other  joy,  I  learned  to  know, 

And  so  returned  to  Love,  as  long  ago. 

Yet  I,  this  little  while  ere  I  go  hence, 

Love  very  lightly  now,  in  self-defence. 


154 


Lines  by  Taj  Mahomed 

This  passion  is  but  an  ember 
Of  a  Sun,  of  a  Fire,  long  set ; 

I  could  not  live  and  remember, 
And  so  I  love  and  forget. 

You  say,  and  the  tone  is  fretful, 
That  my  mourning  days  were  few, 

You  call  me  over  forgetful — 
My  God,  if  you  only  knew! 


155 


There  is  no  Breeze  to  Cool 
the  Heat  of  Love 


The  listless  Palm-trees  catch  the  breeze  above 
The  pile-built  huts  that  edge  the  salt  Lagoon, 

There  is  no  Breeze  to  cool  the  heat  of  love, 
No  wind  from  land  or  sea,  at  night  or  noon. 

Perfumed  and  robed  I  wait,  my  Lord,  for  you, 
And  my  heart  waits  alert,  with  strained  delight, 

My  flowers  are  loath  to  close,  as  though  they  knew 
That  you  will  come  to  me  before  the  night. 

In  the  Verandah  all  the  lights  are  lit, 

And  softly  veiled  in  rose  to  please  your  eyes, 

Between  the  pillars  flying  foxes  flit, 
Their  wings  transparent  on  the  lilac  skies. 

Come  soon,  my  Lord,  come  soon,  I  almost  fear 
My  heart  may  fail  me  in  this  keen  suspense, 

Break  with  delight,  at  last,  to  know  you  near. 
Pleasure  is  one  with  Pain,  if  too  intense. 

156 


I  envy  these:  the  steps  that  you  will  tread, 
The  jasmin  that  will  touch  you  by  its  leaves, 

When,  in  your  slender  height,  you  stoop  your  head 
At  the  low  door  beneath  the  palm-thatched  eaves. 

For  though  you  utterly  belong  to  me, 

And  love  has  done  his  utmost  'twixt  us  twain, 
Your  slightest,  careless  touch  yet  seems  to  be 

That  keen  delight  so  much  akin  to  pain. 


The  night  breeze  blows  across  the  still  Lagoon, 
And  stirs  the  Palm-trees  till  they  wave  above 

Our  pile-built  huts;  Oh,  come,  my  Lord,  come  soon, 
There  is  no  Breeze  to  cool  the  heat  of  love. 

Every  time  you  give  yourself  to  me, 

The  gift  seems  greater,  and  yourself  more  fair, 
This  slight-built,  palm-thatched  hut  has  come  to  be 

A  temple,  since,  my  Lord,  you  visit  there. 

And  as  the  water,  gurgling  softly,  goes 
Among  the  piles  beneath  the  slender  floor; 

I  hear  it  murmur,  as  it  seaward  flows, 
Of  the  great  Wonder  seen  upon  the  shore. 

The  Miracle,  that  you  should  come  to  me, 

Whom  the  whole  world,  seeing,  can  but  desire, 

It  is  as  though  some  White  Star  stooped  to  be 
The  messmate  of  our  little  cooking  fire. 

157 


Leaving  the  Glory  of  his  Purple  Skies, 

And  the  White  Friendship  of  the  Crescent  Moon, 
And  yet; — I  look  into  your  brilliant  eyes, 

And  find  content ;  Oh,  come,  my  Lord,  come  soon. 

Perfumed  and  robed  I  wait  for  you,  I  wait, 

The  flowers  that  please  you  wreathed  about  my 

hair, 

And  this  poor  face  set  forth  in  jewelled  state, 
So  more  than  proud  since  you  have  found  it  fair. 

My  lute  is  ready,  and  the  fragrant  drink 
Your  lips  may  honour,  how  it  will  rejoice 

Losing  its  life  in  yours!  the  lute  I  think 

But  wastes  the  time  when  I  might  hear  your  voice. 

But  you  desired  it,  therefore  I  obey. 

Your  slightest,  as  your  utmost,  wish  or  will, 
Whether  it  please  you  to  caress  or  slay, 

It  would  please  me  to  give  obedience  still. 

I  would  delight  to  die  beneath  your  kiss; 

I  envy  that  young  maiden  who  was  slain, 
So  her  warm  blood,  flowing  beneath  the  kiss, 

Might  ease  the  wounded  Sultan  of  his  pain — ■ 

If  she  loved  him  as  I  love  you,  my  Lord. 

There  is  no  pleasure  on  the  earth  so  sweet 
As  is  the  pain  endured  for  one  adored; 

If  I  lay  crushed  beneath  your  slender  feet 

I58' 


I  should  be  happy!  Ah,  come  soon,  come  soon, 
See  how  the  stars  grow  large  and  white  above, 

The  land  breeze  blows  across  the  salt  Lagoon, 
There  is  no  Breeze  to  cool  the  heat  of  love. 


159 


Malay  Song 

The  Stars  await,  serene  and  white, 

The  unarisen  moon ; 
Oh,  come  and  stay  with  me  to-night, 

Beside  the  salt  Lagoon ! 

My  hut  is  small,  but  as  you  lie, 

You  see  the  lighted  shore, 
And  hear  the  rippling  water  sigh 

Beneath  the  pile-raised  floor. 

No  gift  have  I  of  jewels  or  flowers, 

My  room  is  poor  and  bare: 
But  all  the  silver  sea  is  ours, 

And  all  the  scented  air 

Blown  from  the  mainland,  where  there  grows 
Th'   "Intriguer  of   the   Night," 

The  flower  that  you  have  named  Tube  rose, 
Sweet  scented,  slim,  and  white. 

The  flower  that,  when  the  air  is  still 

And  no  land  breezes  blow, 
From  its  pale  petals  can  distil 

A  phosphorescent  glow. 

I  60 


I  see  your  ship  at  anchor  ride ; 

Her  "captive  lightning"  shine. 
Before  she  takes  to-morrow's  tide, 

Let  this  one  night  be  mine! 

Though  in  the  language  of  your  land 
My  words  are  poor  and  few, 

Oh,  read  my  eyes,  and  understand, 
I  give  my  youth  to  you ! 


161 


The  Temple  Dancing  Girl 

You  will  be  mine;  those  lightly  dancing  feet, 
Falling  as  softly  on  the  careless  street 

As  the  wind-loosened  petals  of  a  flower, 

Will  bring  you  here,  at  the  Appointed  Hour. 

And  all  the  Temple's  little  links  and  laws 
Will  not  for  long  protect  your  loveliness. 

I  have  a  stronger  force  to  aid  my  cause, 
Nature's  great  Law,  to  love  and  to  possess! 

Throughout  those  sleepless  watches,  when  I  lay 
Wakeful,  desiring  what  I  might  not  see, 

I  knew  (it  helped  those  hours,  from  dusk  to  day), 
In  this  one  thing,  Fate  would  be  kind  to  me. 

You  will  consent,  through  all  my  veins  like  wine 
This  prescience  flows;  your  lips  meet  mine  above, 

Your  clear  soft  eyes  look  upward  into  mine 
Dim  in  a  silent  ecstasy  of  love. 

The  clustered  softness  of  your  waving  hair, 
That   curious   paleness  which   enchants  me  so, 

And  all  your  delicate  strength  and  youthful  air, 
Destiny  will  compel  you  to  bestow! 

162 


Refuse,  withdraw,  and  hesitate  awhile, 

Your  young  reluctance  does  but  fan  the  flame; 

My  partner,  Love,  waits,  with  a  tender  smile, 
Who  play  against  him  play  a  losing  game. 

I,  strong  in   nothing  else,  have  strength   in  this, 
The  subtlest,  most  resistless,  force  we  know 

Is  aiding  me;  and  you  must  stoop  and  kiss: 
The  genius  of  the  race  will  have  it  so ! 

Yet,  make  it  not  too  long,  nor  too  intense 

My  thirst;  lest  I  should  break  beneath  the  strain, 

And  the  worn  nerves,  and  over-wearied  sense, 
Enjoy  not  what  they  spent  themselves  to  gain. 

Lest,  in  the  hour  when  you  consent  to  share 
That  human  passion  Beauty  makes  divine, 

I,  over  worn,  should  find  you  over  fair, 
Lest  I  should  die  before  I  make  you  mine. 

You  will  consent,  those  slim,  reluctant  feet, 
Falling  as  lightly  on  the  careless  street 

As  the  white  petals  of  a  wind-worn  flower, 
Will  bring  you  here,  at  the  Appointed  Hour. 


163 


Hira-Singh's  Farewell  to  Burmah 

On  the  wooden  deck  of  the  wooden  Junk,  silent, 

alone,   we   lie, 
With  silver  foam  about  the  bow,  and  a  silver  moon 

in  the  sky: 
A  glimmer  of  dimmer  silver  here,  from  the  anklets 

round  your  feet, 
Our  lips  may  close  on  each  other's  lips,  but  never 

our  souls  may  meet. 

For  though  in  my  arms  you  lie  at  rest,  your  name 

I   have  never  heard, 
To  carry  a  thought  between  us  two,  we  have  not  a 

single  word. 
And  yet  what  matter  we  do  not  speak,  when  the 

ardent  eyes  have  spoken. 
The  way  of  love  is  a  sweeter  way,  when  the  silence 

is  unbroken. 

As  a  wayward  Fancy,  tired  at  times,  of  the  cultured 

Damask  Rose, 
Drifts  away  to  the  tangled  copse,  where  the  wild 

Anemone  grows; 
164 


So  the  ordered  and  licit  love  ashore,  is  hardly  fresh 

and  free 
As  this  light  love  in  the  open  wind  and  salt  of  the 

outer  sea. 

So  sweet  you  are,  with  your  tinted  cheeks  and  your 

small  caressive  hands, 
What  if  I  carried  you  home  with  me,  where  our 

Golden  Temple  stands? 
Yet,  this  were  folly  indeed;  to  bind,  in  fetters  of 

permanence, 
A   passing  dream  whose   enchantment  charms   be- 
cause of  its  trancience. 

Life  is  ever  a  slave  to  Time;  we  have  but  an  hour 

to  rest, 
Her  steam  is  up  and  her  lighters  leave,  the  vessel 

that  takes  me  west; 
And  never  again  we  two  shall  meet,  as  we  chance 

to  meet  to-night, 
On  the  Junk,   whose  painted  eyes  gaze   forth,   in 

desolate  want  of  sight. 

And  what  is  love  at  its  best,  but  this?     Conceived 

by  a  passing  glance, 
Nursed  and  reared  in  a  transient  mood,  on  a  drift- 
ing Sea  of  Chance. 
For  rudderless  craft  are  all  our  loves,  among  the 

rocks  and  the  shoals, 
Well  we  may  know  one  another's  speech,  but  never 

each  other's  souls. 
165 


Give  here  your  lips  and  kiss  me  again,  we  have  but 

a  moment  more, 
Before  we  set  the  sail  to  the  mast,  before  we  loosen 

the  oar. 
Good-bye  to  you,   and  my  thanks  to  you,   for  the 

rest  you  let  me  share, 
While  this  night  drifted  away  to  the  Past,  to  join 

the  Nights  that  Were. 


166 


Starlight 


O  beautiful  Stars,  when  you  see  me  go 
Hither  and  thither,  in  search  of  love, 

Do  you  think  me  faithless,  who  gleam  and  glow 
Serene  and  fixed  in  the  blue  above? 

O  Stars,  so  golden,  it  is  not  so. 

But  there  is  a  garden  I  dare  not  see, 
There  is  a  place  where  I  fear  to  go, 

Since  the  charm  and  glory  of  life  to  me 
The  brown  earth  covered  there,  long  ago. 

O  Stars,  you  saw  it,  you  know,  you  know. 

Hither  and  thither  I  wandering  go, 
With  aimless  haste  and  wearying  fret; 

In  a  search  for  pleasure  and  love?     Not  so, 
Seeking  desperately  to  forget. 

You  see  so  many,  O  Stars,  you  know. 


167 


Sampan  Song 

A  little  breeze  blew  over  the  sea, 

And  it  came  from  far  away, 
Across  the  fields  of  millet  and  rice, 
All  warm  with  sunshine  and  sweet  with  spice, 
It  lifted  his  curls  and  kissed  him  thrice, 

As  upon  the  deck  he  lay. 

It  said,  "Oh,  idle  upon  the  sea, 

Awake  and  with  sleep  have  done, 
Haul  up  the  widest  sail  of  the  prow, 
And  come  with  me  to  the  rice  fields  now, 
She  longs,  oh,  how  can  I  tell  you  how, 
To  show  you  your  first-born  son!" 


168 


Song  of  the  Devoted  Slave 

There    is    one    God:       Mahomed    his    Prophet. 

Had  I  his  power 
I  would  take  the  topmost  peaks  of  the  snow-clad 

Himalayas, 
And  would  range  them  around  your  dwelling,  dur- 
ing the  heats  of  summer, 
To  cool  the  airs  that  fan  your  serene  and  delicate 

presence, 
Had  I  the  power. 

Your  courtyard  should  ever  be  filled  with  the  fleet- 
est of  camels 
Laden  with  inlaid  armour,  jewels  and  trappings  for 

horses, 
Ripe  dates  from  Egypt,  and  spices  and  musk  from 

Arabia. 
And   the  sacred   waters  of   Zem-Zem  well,    trans- 
ported thither, 
Should  bubble  and  flow  in  your  chamber,  to  bathe 

the  delicate 
Slender  and  wayworn  feet  of  my  Lord,  returning 

from  travel, 
Had  I  the  power. 
169 


Fine  woven  silk,  from  the  further  East,  should  con- 
ceal your  beauty, 
Clinging  around  you  in  amorous  folds;  caressive, 

silken, 
Beautiful    long-lashed,    sweet-voiced    Persian    boys 

should,  kneeling,  serve  you, 
And  the  floor  beneath  your  sandalled  feet  should  be 

smooth  and  golden, 
Had  I  the  power. 

And  if  ever  your  clear  and  stately  thoughts  should 

turn  to  women, 
Kings'  daughters,  maidens,  should  be  appointed  to 

your  caresses, 
That  the  youth  and  the  strength  of  my  Lord  might 

never  be  wasted 
In  light  or  sterile  love;  but  enrich  the  world  with 

his  children. 
Had  I  the  power. 

Whilst  I  should  sit  in  the  outer  court  of  the  Water 

Palace 
To  await  the  time  when  you  went  forth,  for  Pleas- 
ure or  Warfare, 
Descending  the  stairs  rose  crowned,  or  armed  and 

arrayed  in  purple, — 
To  mark  the  place  where  your  steps  have  fallen, 

and  kiss  the  footprints, 
Had  I  the  power. 
170 


The  Singer 

The  singer  only  sang  the  Joy  of  Life, 
For  all  too  well,  alas!  the  singer  knew 

How  hard  the  daily  toil,  how  keen  the  strife, 
How  salt  the  falling  tear;  the  joys  how  few. 

He  who  thinks  hard  soon  finds  it  hard  to  live, 
Learning  the  Secret  Bitterness  of  Things: 

So,  leaving  thought,  the  singer  strove  to  give 
A  level  lightness  to  his  lyric  strings. 

He  only  sang  of  Love;  its  joy  and  pain, 
But  each  man  in  his  early  season  loves; 

Each  finds  the  old,  lost  Paradise  again, 

Unfolding  leaves,  and  roses,  nesting  doves. 

And  though  that  sunlit  time  flies  all  too  fleetly, 
Delightful  Days  that  dance  away  too  soon ! 

Its  early   morning   freshness   lingers   sweetly 
Throughout  life's  grey  and  tedious  afternoon. 

And  he,  whose  dreams  enshrine  her  tender  eye  , 
And  she,  whose  senses  wait  his  waking  hand, 

Impatient  youth,  that  tired  but  sleepless  lies, 
Will   read   perhaps,   and   reading,    understand. 

171 


Oh,  roseate  lips  he  would  have  loved  to  kiss, 
Oh,  eager  lovers  that  he  never  knew! 

What  should  you  know  of  him,  or  words  of  his  ?- 
But  all  the  songs  he  sang  were  sung  for  you! 


172 


Malaria 

He  lurks  among  the  reeds,  beside  the  marsh, 

Red  oleanders  twisted  in  His  hair, 
His  eyes  are  haggard  and  His  lips  are  harsh, 

Upon  His  breast  the  bones  show  gaunt  and  bare. 

The  green  and  stagnant  waters  lick  His  feet, 
And  from  their  filmy,  iridescent  scum 

Clouds  of  mosquitoes,  gauzy  in  the  heat, 
Rise  with  His  gifts:     Death  and  Delirium. 

His  messengers:  They  bear  the  deadly  taint 
On  spangled  wings  aloft  and  far  away, 

Making  thin  music,  strident  and  yet  faint, 
From   golden  eve  to  silver  break  of  day. 

The  baffled  sleeper  hears  th'  incessant  whine 
Through  his  tormented  dreams,  and  finds  no  rest. 

The  thirsty  insects  use  his  blood  for  wine, 
Probe  his  blue  veins  and  pasture  on  his  breast. 

While  far  away  He  in  the  marshes  lies, 

Staining  the  stagnant  water  with    His  breath, 

An  endless  hunger  burning  in  His  eyes, 
A  famine  unassuaged,  whose  food  is  Death. 

173 


He  hides  among  the  ghostly  mists  that  float 
Over  the  water,  weird  and  white  and  chill, 

And  peasants,  passing  in  their  laden  boat, 
Shiver  and  feel  a  sense  of  coming  ill. 

A  thousand  burn  and  die;  He  takes  no  heed, 
Their  bones,  unburied,  strewn  upon  the  plain, 

Only  increase  the  frenzy  of  His  greed 

To  add  more  victims  to  th'  already  slain. 

He  loves  the  haggard  frame,  the  shattered  mind, 
Gloats  with  delight  upon  the  glazing  eye, 

Vet,  in  one  thing,  His  cruelty  is  kind, 

He  sends  them  lovely  dreams  before  they  die; 

Dreams  that  bestow  on  them  their  heart's  desire, 
Visions  that  find  them  mad,  and  leave  them  blest, 

To  sink,  forgetful  of  the  fever's  fire, 
Softly,  as  in  a  lover's  arms,  to  rest. 


174 


Fancy 

Far  in  the  Further  East  the  skilful  craftsman 
Fashioned  this  fancy  for  the  West's  delight. 

This  rose  and  azure  Dragon,  crouching  softly 
Upon  the  satin  skin,  close-grained  and  white. 

And  you  lay  silent,  while  his  slender  needles 
Pricked  the  intricate  pattern  on  your  arm, 

Combining  deftly  Cruelty  and  Beauty, 

That  subtle  union,  whose  child  is  charm. 

Charm   irresistible:     the  lovely  something 

We  follow  in  our  dreams,  but  may  not  reach. 

The  unattainable  Divine  Enchantment, 

Hinted  in  music,  never  heard  in  speech. 

This  from  the  blue  design  exhales  towards  me, 
As  incense  rises  from  the  Homes  of  Prayer, 

While  the  unfettered  eyes,  allured  and  rested, 
Urge  the  forbidden  lips  to  stoop  and  share; 

T7< 


Share  in  the  sweetness  of  the  rose  and  azure 

Traced  in  the  Dragon's  form  upon  the  white 

Curve  of  the  arm.     Ah,  curb  thyself,  my  fancy, 
Where  would'st  thou  drift  in  this  enchanted 

flight? 


176 


Feroza 

The  evening  sky  was  as  green  as  Jade, 

As  Emerald  turf  by  Lotus  lake, 
Behind  the  Kafila  far  she  strayed, 

(The  Pearls  are  lost  if  the  Necklace  break!) 

A  lingering  freshness  touched  the  air 

From   palm-trees,   clustered   around   a   Spring, 
The  great,  grim  Desert  lay  vast  and  bare, 

But  Youth  is  ever  a  careless  thing. 

The  Raiders  threw  her  upon   the  sand, 
Men  of  the  Wilderness  know  no  laws, 

They  tore  the  Amethysts  off  her  hand, 

And  rent  the  folds  of  her  veiling  gauze. 

They  struck  the  lips  that  they  might  have  kiased, 
Pitiless  they  to  her  pain  and  fear, 

And  wrenched  the  gold  from  her  broken  wrist, 
No  use  to  cry;  there  were  none  to  hear. 

Her  scarlet  mouth  and  her  onyx  eyes, 
Her  braided  hair  in  its  silken  sheen, 

Were  surely  meet  for  a  Lover's  prize, 

But  Fate  dissented,  and  stepped  between. 
177 


Across  the  Zenith  the  vultures  fly, 
Cruel  of  beak  and  heavy  of  wing. 

Thus  it  was  written  that  she  should  die. 
Inshallah!     Death  is  a  transient  thing. 


I78 


This  Month  the  Almonds 
Bloom  at  Kandahar 

I  hate  this  City,  seated  on  the  Plain, 
The  clang  and  clamour  of  the  hot  Bazar, 

Knowing,  amid  the  pauses  of  my  pain, 

This  month   the  Almonds  bloom   in  Kandahar. 

The  Almond-trees,  that  sheltered  my  Delight, 
Screening  my  happiness  as  evening  fell. 

It  was  well  worth — that  most  Enchanted  Night — 
This  life  in  torment,  and  the  next  in  Hell! 

People  are  kind  to  me;  one  More  than  Kind, 
Her  lashes  lie  like  fans  upon  her  cheek, 

But  kindness  is  a  burden  on  my  mind, 
And  it  is  weariness  to  hear  her  speak. 

For  though  that  Kaffir's  bullet  holds  me  here, 
My  thoughts  are  ever  free,  and  wander  far, 

To  where  the  Lilac  Hills  rise,  soft  and  clear, 
Beyond  the  Almond  Groves  of  Kandahar. 

He  followed  me  to  Sibi,   to  the  Fair, 

The  Horse-fair,  where  he  shot  me  weeks  ago, 

179 


But  since  they  fettered  him  I  have  no  care 
That  my  returning  steps  to  health  are  slow. 

They  will  not  loose  him  till  they  know  my  fate, 
And  I  rest  here  till  I  am  strong  to  slay, 

Meantime,    my    Heart's    Delight   may   safely   wait 
Among  the  Almond  blossoms,  sweet  as  they. 

That  cursed  Kaffir!     Well,  he  won  by  day, 
But  I  won,  what  I  so  desired,  by  night, 

My  arms  held  what  his  lack  till  Judgment  Day! 
Also,  the  game  is  not  yet  over — quite! 

Wait,  Amir  AH,  wait  till  I  come  forth 

To  kill,  before  the  Almond-trees  are  green, 

To   raze   thy  very  Memory  from  the  North, 
So  that  thou  art  not,  and  thou  hast  not  been! 

Aha !  Friend  Amir  Ali !  it  is  Duty 

To  rid  the  World  from  Shiah  dogs  like  thee, 
They  are  but  ill-placed  moles  on  Islam's  beauty, 

Such  as  the  Faithful  cannot  calmly  see ! 

Also  thy  bullet  hurts  me  not  a  little, 

Thy  Shiah  blood  might  serve  to  salve  the  ill. 

Maybe  some  Afghan  Promises  are  brittle ; 
Never  a  Promise  to  oneself,  to  kill! 

Now  I  grow  stronger,  I  have  days  of  leisure 
To  shape  my  coming  Vengeance  as  I  lie, 

180 


And,  undisturbed  by  call  of  War  or  Pleasure, 
Can  dream  of  many  ways  a  man  may  die. 

I  shall  not  torture  thee,  thy  friends  might  rally, 
Some  Fate  assist  thee  and  prove  false  to  me; 

Oh !  shouldst  thou  now  escape  me,  Amir  Ali, 
This  would  torment  me  through  Eternity! 

Aye,  Shuffa-Jan,  I  will  be  quiet  indeed, 

Give  here  the  Hakim's  powder  if  thou  wilt, 

And  thou  mayst  sit,  for  I  perceive  thy  need, 
And  rest  thy  soft-haired  head  upon  my  quilt. 

Thy  gentle  love  will  not  disturb  a  mind 
That  loves  and  hates  beneath  a  fiercer  Star. 

Also,  thou  know'st,  my  Heart  is  left  behind, 
Among  the  Almond-trees  of  Kandahar! 


THE    END 


181 


1 


ru^m^m^Sm\wmr 


Ka    000  652  806    1 


F  UNIVERSITY  QFCA,FUVE 


3  1210  01256  0254 


Uni 


